The plan was finalized, the details laid out, and the massive machine began to move quietly, driven by the precise engine of the Ubuyashiki clan.
Excavating caves, setting up scenes, selecting reliable personnel…
These tedious yet crucial preparations didn’t require Shi Hanfeng’s involvement.
All he needed to do at the final moment was, like a project manager accepting the work, go to the end of the cave and store the short passage behind the door into the Dust Song Pot.
Thus, the person who should have been the busiest, the core of the entire plan, found himself unexpectedly idle.
As for slaying demons.
Ordinary demons posed no challenge to him, and the rewards were pitifully low—like a max-level character returning to the newbie village to bully weaklings—meaningless except for wasting time.
The only ones worth paying attention to were the Twelve String Moons, whose drop rates had been increased.
But apart from Daki and Gyutaro having a fixed ‘business’ in the Yoshiwara Red Light District, and Lower Moon Five, Rui, occupying his own territory on Natagumo Mountain—
The rest of the Upper and Lower Moons were wandering monsters roaming the world.
Actively seeking them out was inefficient and easily alerted the enemy.
It was better to wait for the rabbit by the tree, letting Muzan, the ultimate Boss, bring his luxurious package right to the doorstep.
Daki’s position was the clearest, but she was a key messenger and witness in the plan.
The loss of Hashira-level combat power from the Demon Slayer Corps, as well as the Demon Slayer Corps’ possession of the Blue Spider Lily base, both needed to be ‘accidentally’ revealed to Muzan through Daki.
Natagumo Mountain was relatively remote, and the Demon Slayer Corps would need some time to accurately locate it.
Just like that, Shi Hanfeng unexpectedly gained a rare period of leisure.
He suddenly recalled the private message he left for that silent Water Hashira before leaving the Ubuyashiki Residence.
“Put on your Fox Mask, don’t wear that conspicuous Haori, and go to Fujikasane Mountain where the Final Selection takes place.”
“There might be some surprises.”
In this world of Demon Slayer, nearly every main character carried heavy obsessions and unresolved regrets.
There were others he might not be able to help for now, but the knot of Koyori Giyuu was something he had a unique way of untying.
He wasn’t like Tanjiro, who was born with the warmth to heal hearts, capable of melting ice through sincere conversation.
He had his own way—more direct, more effective.
Let the person themselves wield the blade, severing the nightmares of the past.
Whenever he thought of the Demon Slayer Corps’ selection mechanism, Shi Hanfeng couldn’t help but complain in his heart.
This system was absurd to the extreme. Instead of proper exams, they played at a ‘poison breeding’ style deathmatch.
Throwing a bunch of rookie candidates and a nest of low-level demons into a sealed mountain and letting them survive for seven days?
What could that possibly select for?
A lucky weakling might survive by hiding, while a truly skilled fighter could be worn down and killed by waves of demon attacks.
The Demon Slayer Corps and Muzan truly were matched in their peculiar strategies—if either side was a little less odd, the stalemate of the human-demon war wouldn’t have lasted for centuries.
This was also why he insisted on obtaining absolute control.
You could trust the Demon Slayer Corps’ resolve to slay demons, but you’d better not expect too much from the tactics they devised.
Just like that boy named Sabito.
From the fragments of Koyori Giyuu’s memories and the sparse descriptions in the original work, it was clear the child’s talent surpassed Giyuu’s, who himself was far from weak among the current Hashira.
It was hard to imagine how many potential Hashira-level talents like Sabito were buried under the selection system of Fujikasane Mountain, surrounded by Wisteria.
But for the Hand Demon, who delighted in slaughtering Sakonji Urokodaki’s disciples, its days were numbered.
What was the point of always playing in the low ranks?
Come, let me match you with the current Water Hashira and show you what a high-level game feels like.
***
On the other side, Koyori Giyuu put on the somewhat worn Fox Mask as instructed, covering his face and changing into plain dark clothing.
He walked alone to the foot of Fujikasane Mountain, where Wisteria bloomed year-round.
He looked up at the mountain shrouded in a purple haze, his brows furrowing beneath the mask.
Surprise?
Other than being the trial ground year after year, what surprises could there be here?
He didn’t like this place, either. His best friend was buried here.
At that moment, soft footsteps came from behind.
Koyori Giyuu turned warily to see Kochou Kanae approaching with a gentle smile. She, too, wore simple clothes for easy movement, having changed out of her signature butterfly Haori.
“Mr. Giyuu, is this the place Mr. Jingyuan suggested you come to?”
Kanae’s tone was gentle, tinged with curiosity.
Koyori Giyuu nodded briefly. “Mm.”
He hesitated, wanting to say he could go alone and she didn’t need to follow.
But when he spoke, it turned into a different kind of remark.
“Are you that bored?”
As soon as he finished, Koyori Giyuu sensed a chill—Kanae’s spring-like smile froze for a moment.
Though her lips still curved, the warmth in her eyes dropped several degrees.
She tilted her head slightly, her voice still soft but carrying an invisible pressure.
“Mr. Giyuu, if you don’t know how to speak, it’s better to stay silent, you know.”
A primal sense of crisis seized Koyori Giyuu, and he wisely closed his mouth, silently turning to lead the way into the Wisteria-covered mountain path.
Kanae watched his back, shook her head helplessly, and followed.
She was also curious about why Shi Hanfeng had specifically named Giyuu for Fujikasane Mountain.
With two Hashira acting together, it was always safer.
The mountain was silent, save for the rustling of Wisteria petals in the wind and the soft crunch of fallen leaves underfoot.
Both were battle-hardened Hashira, their senses far beyond ordinary people, and as they walked, they quickly surveyed the area.
Around them, only the faintest traces of demon aura lingered—so weak as to be negligible—mere creatures acting on instinct, no threat to the examinees, let alone to them.
Just as Koyori Giyuu began to suspect Shi Hanfeng was playing a joke, the sound of trees snapping violently erupted ahead.
The two exchanged a glance and instantly accelerated, darting toward the source.
Passing through dense undergrowth, even the worldly-wise Kochou Kanae’s pupils contracted at the sight.
It was a demon of abnormal size and grotesque form.
Its neck was a ring encircled by arms.
Its body was obese, and most horrifying of all, its entire form was covered with countless writhing arms, like a terrifying coat sewn from dismembered limbs.
“Impossible!”
Kanae gasped, shock written on her face.
“How could a demon of this level appear in Fujikasane Mountain?!”
She was one of the Hashira who patrolled the mountain, and the demons sent here were usually low-level creatures, barely capable of using Blood Demon Arts, meant for new recruits to practice on.
But this demon—its twisted shape and massive size—was far beyond what a novice swordsman could handle!
She dared not imagine the fate that would befall her sister Yin, or any of the children participating in the selection, if they encountered such a monster.
“Hahahahaha! That expression! Surprise, fear, disbelief! It never gets old!”
The Hand Demon noticed the intruders and let out a smug, raspy laugh.
Its beady eyes, buried in folds of fat, swept over the prominent Fox Mask on Koyori Giyuu’s face, becoming even more excited.
“Is it selection time again? This time there’s even my favorite little fox!”
Koyori Giyuu’s breath caught beneath the mask, his hand tightening on the hilt of his Nichirin Blade, his cold voice emerging through the mask, deadly calm.
“What are you talking about?”
“I said—”
The Hand Demon, as if it hadn’t found someone willing to ‘listen’ in ages, suddenly became loquacious, its voice filled with forty years of bitterness.
“I get to eat another one of Sakonji Urokodaki’s disciples!”
The mutated arms beat madly on the ground, venting endless rage.
“That one with the Tengu Mask! He was the one who captured me here! For over forty years! Forty years I’ve been trapped in this damned place!”
The torment of imprisonment twisted its hatred to the extreme.
It began counting on its fingers, as if tallying its collection.
“Eleven, twelve, thirteen…”
Then, it pointed another finger at Koyori Giyuu, its tone filled with cruel pleasure.
“You’re the fourteenth!”
It seemed caught up in some frenzied memory.
“Sakonji must’ve trained two more decent brats over the years… One with reddish hair, the other quick on their feet. Too bad—they were too young, neither could cut off my head. Now, they’re all reunited in my stomach! Hahahahaha!”
“You… monster!”
Even the usually gentle Kochou Kanae was thoroughly enraged.
Thinking of those young lives—full of promise—being butchered so cruelly and used as trophies by this demon, her killing intent boiled over.
Her Nichirin Blade was about to leave its sheath.
“Kochou Kanae!”
Koyori Giyuu snapped, forcibly halting Kanae’s motion.
She paused, looking at him in confusion.
Koyori Giyuu stepped forward, positioning himself protectively before her.
His eyes, locked onto the Hand Demon, remained expressionless, but the aura around him transformed completely.
Water Breathing surged through his body with unprecedented force, the air growing dense and humid, the faint sound of tides echoing.
“Step aside.”
His voice was ice-cold, each word like it came from a frozen tomb.
“This demon—no one else is allowed to interfere.”
In that instant, he fully understood what Shi Hanfeng meant by ‘surprise.’
This wasn’t a surprise—it was a key, one that could unlock the frozen hell in his heart.
Sabito, Makomo, and all the unnamed seniors who perished here under Urokodaki’s hopes—
Their blood debts, regrets, and sorrows.
His long-held questions, too, finally had answers—why even the powerful Sabito had fallen.
The real culprit had always been imprisoned beneath this sea of Wisteria—a symbol of hope.
“Thank you, Mr. Jingyuan.”
Koyori Giyuu murmured silently, emotions suppressed for too long surging like a volcano, desperate for release.
He took a deep breath, compressing all his sorrow, anger, guilt, and killing intent into the next strike.
“If you can, try me!”
The Hand Demon, sensing Giyuu’s unusual aura, felt uneasy, but years of arrogance from preying on rookies dulled its caution.
It grinned savagely, dozens of arms launching like spears from all sides.
Yet, as those arms neared Koyori Giyuu’s three-foot perimeter, it was as if they struck an invisible, flowing wall of water.
“Water Breathing Eleventh Form: Dead Calm.”
Koyori Giyuu simply stood there, a tranquil domain spreading from him.
All attacks—physical or intangible—vanished the moment they entered, like stones cast into the deep sea, leaving not even a ripple.
“No! You’re not a rookie!”
Only now did the Hand Demon truly sense the danger—its beady eyes widening in terror.
This was power no newcomer could possess!
Koyori Giyuu ignored its horror.
He drew his Nichirin Blade slowly, the blade reflecting the dappled light through the Wisteria leaves like flowing water.
He poured all his strength, breath, will, and emotions—long repressed and deep as the ocean—into a single move.
“Water Breathing Twelfth Form…”
His own creation, surpassing the eleven existing forms—a final technique unique to Koyori Giyuu.
It embodied his silent nature, converting all the weight words could not bear into a destructive strike.
“Tsunami.”
The blade fell.
A tremendous force, as if from the ocean’s depths, erupted, an invisible tidal wave swallowing the massive demon whole.
The Hand Demon didn’t even have time to scream.
Its vaunted, armored arms and bloated body were pulverized—shattered to dust under the pure pressure, as if thrown into a meat grinder.
The outcome was never in doubt.
This was the Water Hashira’s full-strength attack—a move even Lower Moons had never tasted.
Against a demon whose strength came only from years of accumulation and monstrous mutation, it was a crushing instant kill.
The Hand Demon, along with its forty years of hatred and evil, vanished silently, leaving not even ash.
Koyori Giyuu slowly sheathed his sword, standing motionless for a long time.
Kochou Kanae stood behind him, witnessing it all, and chose not to intrude.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I have something else to discuss with Sensei, so I won’t be joining you, Kanae.”
After a while, Koyori Giyuu composed himself and turned to speak.
Hearing this, Kanae took a step back.
This guy—did a demon possess him?