To the watching crowd, Gyōi's opening strike looked fast—intimidating even.
But to Tachibana Kyūjō, standing still in the middle of the clearing, it was anything but.
The massive spiked flail and axe connected by thick iron chains flew through the air toward him. Yet in Kyūjō's eyes, they moved slowly. Excruciatingly slowly.
Almost as if ti itself had decided to take a break.
The awed faces in the audience froze, mouths half-open, eyes widened in disbelief. What they thought would be a titanic clash now seed uncertain.
In that instant, Kyūjō felt sothing stir deep inside him.
He had beco stronger—again.
Not physically. This wasn't about muscle or endurance. It was sothing deeper.
His spirit. His senses.
It was as if the entire world around him had fallen into a sluggish trance, moving several beats behind the rhythm his body now followed.
And then, a whisper echoed in the corners of his mind.
"Too slow... it's all too slow..."
He wasn't just referring to Gyōi's attack. No—he ant everything around him.
In this new state of hyper-awareness, Kyūjō had crossed a threshold. The world no longer moved on the sa plane as him. He felt like a character from a high-speed action reel suddenly dropped into a slow-motion drama.
Thankfully, he thought, I can still control this ability. If I had to live in this perception for twenty-four hours a day, I think I'd lose my mind.
The flail and axe were still falling toward him—albeit sluggishly in his mind's eye.
He exhaled, then stepped forward without hesitation.
"Thunder Breathing, Second Form: Rice Spirit—Modified."
A golden gleam burst from his blade.
The air cracked open.
His Nichirin Blade cut through the atmosphere with a sharp shriek, tracing arcs of golden light across the sky. The world erupted into a rhythm of thunder, a relentless drumbeat of lightning-quick strikes.
"Here... here... and here!"
Each swing of his blade precisely targeted a focal point—where the force, weight, and motion of Gyōi's weapon converged.
Kyūjō didn't rely on sight anymore. He fought with a heightened instinct, with an awareness that transcended the five senses.
To the onlookers, it looked like Gyōi's strike was about to crash down upon Kyūjō—so even shut their eyes, unable to watch what they thought would be a devastating blow.
And then—
A single flash of gold split the sky.
In the sa instant, everything changed.
Kyūjō's figure blurred through the air, reappearing an arm's length away from where he stood—his blade humming with condensed energy.
Gyōi's twin weapons—tools of destruction crafted for war—froze mid-air, halted inches away from Kyūjō's body.
No matter how hard Gyōi pulled the chain, no matter how much strength he poured into it, his weapons didn't budge.
It was as if they had been... tad.
Gasps erupted all around them.
"Wha—?!"
"Am I hallucinating?!"
"H-He stopped it... like it was nothing..."
"Look! The weapons... they're swinging back toward Gyōi!"
— — —
Only then did everyone understand.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a lesson.
Gyōi Hijima, one of the most formidable warriors of the new generation… was no match for Tachibana Kyūjō.
Not even close.
Kuwajima Jigorō stood silently by the edge of the field, his eyes wide with disbelief.
This child… just how much power has he been hiding all this ti?
A modified Thunder Breathing form… that speed, that control, that balance… This is beyond human technique…
Before Jigorō could finish that thought, Kagaya Ubuyashiki's voice gently broke in.
"Jigorō-dono… can you explain what just happened?"
"Why did Gyōi's weapons stop like that…? Why couldn't he move them anymore?"
Jigorō took a deep breath, his voice heavy with awe.
"It's… an incredible sword technique."
"Oyakata-sama, Gyōi didn't choose to stop. He couldn't move."
"Each of Kyūjō's strikes landed with perfect timing and force. He hit the joints and trajectories of the weapon's arc with such precision, he completely canceled out their montum."
"And it wasn't just once—he kept adjusting every motion in real-ti to neutralize the force of Gyōi's pull."
"In all my years of swordsmanship… I've never seen anyone do sothing like this."
Kagaya fell silent. He wasn't a warrior himself, but even he could feel it—Kyūjō's strength wasn't normal.
He turned to Jigorō again.
"Then… is there anyone in the Demon Slayer Corps who could match him?"
Jigorō shook his head without hesitation.
"Not in this generation."
"Even if we look back a century or two... I'm not sure we'd find soone like him."
Kagaya looked stunned, but Jigorō continued calmly.
"I suspect… his power has already reached the realm of the first-generation swordsn—the ones who created the Breathing Styles."
"His limits… even I can't guess them."
"But I have a feeling… the war between humanity and demons might finally end with this boy."
The weight of Jigorō's words settled deep in Kagaya's chest, echoing like a bell struck in his soul.
— — —
Back on the field, Gyōi stood frozen.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from sheer exhaustion.
He took a deep breath and bowed his head.
"Hashira of Thunder… I admit defeat."
"Namu Amida Butsu."
But behind his composed exterior, his heart was reeling.
So this is the gap between us...
He's not just strong. He's sothing else entirely…
I couldn't even land a single hit…
But if soone like him is on our side… maybe there's still hope.
Namu Amida Butsu…
At the sa ti, Kyūjō rubbed the back of his head, awkwardly realizing he might have gone too far.
...Crap. I might've hurt his pride a little.
Just then—
Two heavy thuds echoed as Gyōi's weapons crashed into the ground. The chains rattled, finally released from Kyūjō's technique.
"L-Look! Hashira of Thunder's blade—it changed color!"
One of the Kakushi gasped, pointing in awe.
Kyūjō glanced down at his sword.
Where once the blade shimred in cold hues of silver and black, it now radiated an intense heat, glowing a fiery crimson.
It looked like it had just co out of a blazing forge.
So this is...
Kyūjō understood.
It must've been the extre friction with the air—the intense speed and energy flowing through the blade that caused the change.
Is this… another way to awaken the Crimson Blade?
He couldn't be sure. Not yet.
I'll have to test it in real combat... against a real demon.
After confirming the temperature had cooled, Kyūjō finally sheathed his Nichirin Blade.
The duel was over.
But a new threshold had been crossed.
And not a single soul in that clearing would ever forget the sight of the young swordsman who stood tall beneath the sky, rewriting everything they thought they knew—about swordsmanship, about power, about the future.
— — —
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