Demon Slayer: Rewriting Tragedies with Super Vision — Chapter 179

Chapter 179: Muzan: My Eyes Have Been Polluted

Having executed two Lower Ranks in rapid succession, Muzan’s plum-red eyes remained entirely devoid of emotion. He shifted his cold gaze toward Kyogai, who was kneeling on the tatami mats, trembling so violently he was on the verge of incontinence.

“I originally stripped you of your place among the Twelve Kizuki due to your pathetic lack of strength,” Muzan’s voice echoed through the shifting wooden halls, smooth yet dripping with venom. “It was only by my mercy that I granted you the status of a Lower Rank once more. Yet, to this day, you have achieved absolutely nothing worthy of that grace.”

Kyogai’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the floorboards. “L-Lord Muzan, please—”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have held any expectations for a piece of trash.”

Muzan didn’t even grant the drum demon a chance to finish his plea. With a sickening crunch, a blur of flesh and bone obliterated Kyogai, scattering his remains across the platform.

In the end, only Enmu remained.

The Lower Rank One had stayed perfectly silent and motionless from the very beginning. Only now did he lift his head, gazing up at the Demon King with an expression of absolute, doting adoration.

Muzan narrowed his eyes. He reached out with his telepathic connection, intending to read the demon’s current inner thoughts to gauge his loyalty.

And then, he saw it.

‘Even Lord Muzan’s furious aura is so incredibly charming…’Enmu’s internal voice hummed with a sickeningly sweet pitch, his cheeks flushed with a dark blush.’Am I going to be killed by Lord Muzan’s own hands? Ah… this is truly too blissful! After being devoured by that magnificent tentacle, will my flesh and blood finally be considered one with him?’Enmu shifted his knees, his breathing growing ragged.’If that’s the case… ooh… just thinking about it makes me feel like I’m going to die of pure happiness…’

These twisted, masochistic thoughts flooded Muzan’s mind, accompanied by vivid, highly inappropriate mental images that even the thousand-year-old progenitor found deeply disturbing. The sheer absurdity of it almost completely dissipated the lingering anger in Muzan’s chest, replacing it with a deep sense of revulsion.

Yet, from a purely pragmatic standpoint, Enmu’s fanatical worship was exactly what Muzan demanded of his subordinates. In his absolute arrogance, he believed all living beings in the world should submit to his will with such blind devotion. He possessed the power of immortality. Once he finally secured the Blue Spider Lily, his final weakness to the sun would be eradicated. He would become a perfect, flawless being, naturally deserving of the worship of all creation.

Of course, worship was fine. Having thoughts that aggressively crossed the line into perversion was going a bit too far.

, Enmu’s Blood Demon Art revolved around hypnosis and dream manipulation, which made him an exceptionally useful tool for gathering intelligence.

Weighing his disgust against the demon’s utility, Muzan decided to spare Enmu’s life for the time being.

And it was definitely not because he was so thoroughly repulsed by Enmu’s filthy fantasies that he simply wanted to end the interaction as quickly as possible. Definitely not.

‘Flesh and blood becoming one…’Muzan’s jaw tightened, a vein pulsing faintly at his temple.’No. I refuse to entertain this any longer.’

“Enmu,” Muzan said, his tone icy and detached. “To be promoted to Lower Rank One in just a few short months… I have high hopes for you. Therefore, I will give you another chance. I expect you not to disappoint me.”

As he spoke, the grotesque mass of flesh that had just devoured the other Lower Moons slithered forward. This time, however, its tip did not form a gaping maw. Instead, it sharpened into a wicked, bone-white spike.

The moment Muzan finished speaking, the spike lashed out, burying itself deep into Enmu’s neck. A massive dose of the Demon King’s concentrated blood pumped directly into Enmu’s veins.

The reaction was instantaneous and violent. Enmu felt as if every single cell in his body was being crushed into powder, painstakingly reconstructed, and then pulverized all over again in a relentless cycle of absolute agony. He collapsed, his fingers clawing at his own throat as his blood vessels bulged against his pale skin.

Yet, amidst this horrific torment, a morbidly infatuated smile stretched across his distorted face.

‘Just a single drop of his blood is so overwhelmingly powerful… as expected of Lord Muzan,’Enmu thought, his mind swimming in a haze of pain and ecstasy.’To be able to merge with his blood… it’s worth it, even if my body explodes from the pressure…’

Muzan, however, had already severed the telepathic link. He didn’t bother to watch the rest of the gruesome transformation. With a sharp crack of a biwa string, he vanished from the Infinity Castle.

He left as quickly as he could, looking very much like a man fleeing from something deeply unsanitary.

A significant amount of time slipped away in the blink of an eye.

Despite his relentless training, Akira’s attempts to comprehend the Transparent World still hadn’t yielded any success.

The failure gnawed at him, breeding a quiet but heavy sense of urgency in his chest. As long as Muzan walked the earth, the Demon King hung over the Demon Slayer Corps like the Sword of Damocles, a constant, suffocating threat to the lives of Akira and the women he loved.

The only silver lining was that Muzan’s absolute priority remained the search for the Blue Spider Lily. His hostility toward the Demon Slayer Corps was largely born of annoyance rather than active malice; he simply viewed the swordsmen as persistent pests.

The only things in the entire history of the Corps that had ever truly struck fear into Muzan’s black heart were Yoriichi Tsugikuni and the original Sun Breathing.

That was precisely why, shortly after the Kamado family had been rescued, Muzan had mobilized a massive horde of demons to scour the mountains for them. He had been terrified of the legacy they carried.

But after more than a year of fruitless searching, the Demon King had essentially given up. By comparing the memories of the Hinokami Kagura performed by Tanjuro Kamado with the unforgettable, god-like techniques of Yoriichi burned into his cellular memory, Muzan had reached a conclusion. He determined that the Kamado family’s dance was a diluted imitation, not the true, original Sun Breathing. Thus, the threat they posed was minimal.

Naturally, the priority of hunting down the Kamado family plummeted, taking a backseat to the eternal quest for the Blue Spider Lily once more.

This shift in focus was the primary reason the frequency of the Demon Slayer Corps’ emergency missions had noticeably decreased in recent months. First, the pressure Muzan placed on his ordinary demons to hunt had lessened. Second, the recent elevation of several new Hashira had resulted in the permanent eradication of dozens of territorial demons, clearing out entire regions.

Even so, Akira knew this peace was fragile. With Nakime’s terrifying spatial manipulation and search capabilities now that she had been elevated to the ranks of the Upper Moons, locating the hidden headquarters of the Demon Slayer Corps was only a matter of time.

Even if the current Corps lacked a sun-conquering Nezuko to draw Muzan out personally, the Demon King certainly wouldn’t hesitate to send a few Upper Ranks backed by an army of cannon fodder to wipe out the headquarters just to silence the annoyance.

If even the top three Upper Ranks descended upon them simultaneously, the current Corps would be devastated. Even if the Hashira managed to repel or kill the invaders, the casualties would be catastrophic.

The only viable countermeasure was to aggressively elevate their own combat power and systematically eliminate Muzan’s highest-ranking demons before the headquarters was compromised.

Their primary target was Doma, the Upper Rank Two, whose location had already been marked.

Currently, Gyomei Himejima had successfully mastered the Transparent World. Given the Stone Hashira’s monstrous physical strength, manifesting a Bright Red Nichirin Sword wouldn’t be difficult for him. In a one-on-one confrontation, Gyomei might actually hold the upper hand against Doma, but overpowering the demon and permanently killing him were two entirely different matters.

Even with Akira providing backup, the certainty of victory wasn’t high enough to risk it.

Doma’s Blood Demon Art was a nightmare to deal with. His cryokinesis produced lethal, microscopic ice crystals that shredded the lungs of anyone who breathed them in. A casual area-of-effect attack from the Upper Two was enough to completely shut down most swordsmen. Unless the other Hashira adopted a suicidal fighting style, disregarding their own lives just to land a hit, they wouldn’t be able to provide effective support.

Originally, Akira had formulated a plan: he and Gyomei would launch a synchronized, devastating sneak attack to instantly decapitate Doma. But that entire strategy depended on Akira also mastering the Transparent World to bypass the demon’s defenses.

Now, the plan was dead in the water, stalled by his inability to cross that final threshold.

Late at night, Akira stood by the open window of his estate. The cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he stared up at the bright, silver moon hanging high in the sky. He drummed his fingers against the wooden sill, his mind racing through every possible avenue to increase his strength.

But no matter how he calculated it, there seemed to be no other viable option left besides manifesting the Demon Slayer Mark—a cursed power that traded a swordsman’s lifespan for explosive physical enhancement.

The thought made Akira’s mood sink like a stone.

He had been subconsciously avoiding this path for months. He knew perfectly well that if they wanted to truly corner and slaughter Muzan, the Demon Slayer Mark was practically a mandatory requirement.

But when forced to stare that reality in the face, he hesitated.

As Akira had often admitted to himself, he was a greedy man. He cherished his life. He wanted to survive this war. He wanted to build a home, raise a family, and grow old with the women who had entrusted their hearts to him.

He had already barely survived two catastrophic encounters. The battle with Gyokko had been a calculated risk; he had only used a life-threatening technique because he was absolutely certain it would secure the kill. The clash with Akaza had been somewhat anticipated, though if the Upper Three hadn’t unleashed his ultimate technique in a final, desperate fit of rage, Akira wouldn’t have been left hovering at death’s door.

But the Mark was different. It was a guaranteed death sentence by the age of twenty-five.

If he activated the Demon Slayer Mark and still wanted to live out his natural life, Akira could only think of one theoretical loophole to break the curse. But that method required specific conditions that were still a long way off from even being tested, and whether it would actually succeed remained a complete unknown.

He gripped the windowsill, his knuckles turning white under the moonlight. Time was running out, and the choices were narrowing.