Duko had been focused on guarding her face and paid no mind to her lower body—by the time she heard the rush of air, it was too late...
Kawanishi's full-powered strike landed squarely on target.
Duko's face instantly flushed and twisted in pain. "How could you be so vile?! I'll rip you apart!"
But something felt wrong to Kawanishi. The impact... was off.
He had struck dead center, yet the feedback wasn't what it should've been.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder exploded in his mind.
"Wait a second... That feeling—don't tell me… this demon is a woman?!"
"This is... deeply disrespectful…"
Kawanishi flushed with embarrassment. He hadn't expected that at all. Duko's voice was gruff and deep, her appearance brutal and monstrous... There were simply no signs.
In his subconscious, female demons should've been seductive, graceful—even alluring.
But one look at Duko's fanged, blue-skinned face, her oversized arms thick as his waist—and all such thoughts vanished from his mind entirely.
Let's see who'd still have 'bold' ideas after looking at this demon.
Duko was fuming, though she hadn't actually taken much damage. Even if it hurt, her body remained mostly intact.
Demons were notoriously resistant to pain, after all.
"You want to protect humans? Then I'm going to eat them all—right in front of you."
"I want to see your face twisted in agony."
Despite the burst of pain, Duko's massive frame started moving again. Her left hand remained guarding her face while the right reached for the Black Cleaver.
Kawanishi quickly retreated. If Duko grabbed the weapon, he wouldn't be able to pull it free.
Now she was running east again—toward the fleeing townsfolk—moving with tight, defensive posture.
Kawanishi's eyes turned crimson. Desperation welled up inside him.
If he didn't act fast, Duko would catch up.
He no longer cared if she was a female demon. With a leap, he smashed the flat of the Black Cleaver down onto her skull.
Cutting didn't work. Maybe blunt force would.
But her skull was just as tough. The impact sent a jolt up Kawanishi's arms, splitting the skin at his grip. The weapon nearly slipped from his fingers.
"Dammit… Black Cleaver's too light. It can't deliver the blunt force I need..."
The axe looked fearsome, but its weight didn't match its size—and it certainly didn't match his strength. The blade worked well, but as a hammer, it lacked heft.
"What now? Can't cut her, can't crush her, can't stop her..."
Panic mounted. Kawanishi felt his mind spinning out of control. But the harder he tried to think, the less came to him…
Then, a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
Far away, where Kawanishi couldn't see, Tanjiro's father stood watching with worry.
In that moment of chaos and fear, a soft murmur reached Kawanishi's ears: "Kawanishi, don't panic. Stay calm. Spin… spin…"
In the world of demons, spirits of the dead sometimes linger—souls refusing to pass on, watching over their loved ones out of sheer will.
Though the living couldn't see them, emotional extremes—battles of life and death, dreams of deep longing—sometimes opened that veil.
It had happened with Ume before.
And now, Kawanishi heard Tanjiro's father voice. Faint, like a candle flickering in the wind—but unmistakable.
The chaos inside him quieted.
"Right. I have to calm down. Rushing will solve nothing—it only blocks thought."
His breath evened out. Shame filled him as he realized how immature he'd been.
He had thought himself prepared for brutal combat. But under certain pressure, he still let emotions take control.
Fighting Black Fang had left him at a disadvantage, yet he had remained composed.
But now—it wasn't his own life in danger. It was innocent lives. That helplessness had made him reckless.
His intentions were noble—but panic was still the enemy.
Growth comes through trials. Kawanishi, too, would become a hardened, seasoned slayer through experience.
"Spin… Of course! How could I forget?"
Solutions are often there—but until someone nudges us, we can't see them.
Kawanishi's eyes sharpened with clarity.
Black Cleaver wouldn't work for this. He stabbed it into the ground behind him and moved forward, executing the move that had just come to mind.
"Scorching Feather: Heavenward Blade—Blade Tempest Thunder!"
The air shifted. On both sides of him, his Scorching Feathers aligned into razor-sharp Heavenward Blades. Kawanishi crossed his legs and began to spin.
The air shrieked around him, pulled into a rising vortex.
The blades extended outward, their tips slicing the wind. As he spun faster and faster, he became a blazing, circular storm—a ring of searing orange light.
Duko noticed immediately. The movement. The pressure.
It reminded her of that single blow that had almost taken her head.
"…No."
With a mighty stomp, Duko stopped in her tracks, her body tensing to its limit.
This couldn't be ignored.
The bladed wheel Kawanishi had become rose from the ground and surged toward her neck like a spiraling thunderbolt.
Air parted violently in its wake, carving a white path through space.
In the aftermath, winds swirled into the vacuum left behind, creating a dramatic collapse of sound and motion.
Duko's eyes were wide, wild. She knew—this might be the finishing blow.
If that spinning blade took her head, and Kawanishi followed with that pseudo-Nichirin axe… it would be the end.
Her skin darkened, black-blue metal gleaming coldly. She raised both hands toward the oncoming attack.
This would be a contest of offense and defense—pure and final.
The scorching blade met her metal hands, and an explosion of sparks showered the battlefield like a storm of fire.
Screeching metal. Splitting air. The sounds of destruction.
But this time, it wasn't like before.
The skin on Duko's palms turned red—then split open under the pressure. Blood gushed from the wounds, hissing as it vaporized on contact with the superheated blades.
With a growl of pain, Duko stomped backward, recoiling.
Her hands—once the hardest part of her body—had blocked countless attacks, crushed countless skulls.
But they couldn't stop this.
Fear gripped her.
And the bladed tempest wasn't done. Kawanishi closed in again, chasing her as she retreated.
Panicked, Duko crossed her arms over her neck to protect it.
But the pain came immediately. The blades only slowed slightly before slicing through both her arms.
Her skin was armor but her muscles, bones they weren't nearly as durable.
That's why she hated blunt weapons.
If only the Black Cleaver were heavier, Kawanishi could have fought her directly with that.
But it wasn't. And so he had faced her hardest defenses head-on.
Still
He was going to win.
(End of Chapter)