Chapter 234: A Light Goes Out

The instant Kanao touched the ground, she ran several yards to position herself beside Shinobu.

The next second, Douma’s severed head shattered in midair.

The ice crystals rained down, reflecting a frigid gleam beneath the moon, and from the frozen mist a figure slowly emerged... Douma.

Clapping, he looked at Kanao with a smile: "You too, little flower... You’ve gotten so much faster. And judging by your Breathing, you’re not afraid of my ice anymore, are you? Honestly, I’d love to keep playing with all of you. Unfortunately..." He shook his head with a hint of sadness: "I don’t have the time."

As the haze dispersed, it revealed his true body, flanked by six small ice figures that reached his shins, their facial features identical to his own.

’Blood Demon Art: Crystalline Divine Child.’

Crouching down, Douma patted one of his replicas. "Aren’t they adorable?"

Before they had time to react, the mini-Doumas moved to surround the Demon Slayers. Each one drew out two frozen sculptures shaped like a female torso.

’Blood Demon Art: Cold White Princesses’

Twelve gusts of frigid breath burst out in every direction. Shinobu tried to raise her katana, but the ice already covered her wrist and neck.

In the blink of an eye, both of them turned into two ice sculptures.

Unlike the cold of Asakusa, the entrance to the Swordsmith Village was a blazing furnace.

The constant clash of metal rang out without pause; Muzan’s whips slammed relentlessly against the Nichirin Blades.

Barely ten seconds had passed since Muzan began his attack, yet the Hashira had already been driven twenty yards down the street.

They formed a defensive line, interlocking their blades against an onslaught of endless, destructive whips.

Muzan was attacking in earnest, revealing unstoppable speed and power. Every thrust demanded a perfect block, and every lash that wasn’t dodged sent one of them flying through the air.

Sanemi was already covered in cuts, leaving a trail of blood with every step. Mitsuri’s left arm hung useless. Obanai had lost an ear, and blood covered his face. Tokito, in the worst shape of all, had a gaping hole in his abdomen — Sanemi had managed to sever the whip just in time, before it ran him through completely.

But the gravest problem wasn’t the physical damage — it was the sluggishness taking hold of their movements.

The wounds were injecting Muzan’s blood into them, triggering uncontrolled cellular destruction.

Obanai clenched his teeth hard; on one side of his face, deep black veins spread out from the severed ear.

He had already lost sight in one eye, and that entire half of his face had gone numb. Sanemi, for his part, was accumulating dozens of thin cuts that injected poison into his veins.

His whole body was rigid, held up by willpower alone.

Tokito was in the most critical condition.

From the wound in his abdomen, tumors of flesh sprouted, writhing and expanding outward. His pupils were dilated, his consciousness sinking little by little.

"C-Close ranks!" Sanemi demanded, forcing out his voice. "Hang on, Tokito!"

And Muzan didn’t stop.

His eighteen whips kept launching uninterrupted thrusts that, like a precise weaving machine, kept them cornered.

"Hang on?" Muzan muttered scornfully. "And just what do you plan to hang on with?"

Another thrust came.

Mitsuri barely deflected it with the back of her blade, but another pierced her side just below the armpit, releasing a spray of blood.

"A minute at most. Even if I don’t lift a finger, your cells will be devoured by my blood," Muzan added indifferently. "What are you clinging to? To waiting for Marcus to show up?"

Mitsuri bit her lip and, with her one functioning arm, cut down the whip trying to strike her from behind.

Muzan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Swish

Another of his whips shot out, gliding flat like a razor.

Tokito let out a heart-rending scream.

His left leg, from the calf down, went flying.

Mitsuri lunged to deflect the whip with her katana.

"Marcus-kun... is going to come!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling but firm. "He’ll definitely come!"

Muzan tilted his head. "My subordinates have him cornered. And even if he broke free of them, do you think he’d come running to his death?"

Mitsuri didn’t back down.

She held her guard in front of her comrades, staring at Muzan with resolute eyes.

"Marcus won’t abandon us."

"..."

Muzan watched her in silence for a few seconds, as the corners of his lips slowly curled upward.

"You, he might try to save..." His gaze settled on the three wounded behind her. "But them — do you think he’ll care?"

Mitsuri gripped her katana tightly.

"Even if he can’t save us, he’ll avenge our deaths!"

Seeing her haggard yet unbreakable, a savage smile spread across Muzan’s face.

"Such confidence... The two of you must be very close indeed!"

Suddenly, he halted his attacks. He gathered up his whips and pointed them at Mitsuri.

"If I kill you now... when he arrives, will he scream nice and loud?"

Swish!

The next second, accompanied by Muzan’ws deranged words, eighteen whips were reflected in Mitsuri’s eyes, hurtling toward her at full speed.

It’s all over...

In that instant, Mitsuri wished Marcus wouldn’t appear... she didn’t want him to see her like this, maimed and covered in blood.

However, just before the whips could run her through, Muzan’s voice cut off abruptly.

In his perception, one of the two points of light on the mountain... suddenly went out.

"Gyokko?!"

His whips spun out of control.

He desperately searched for his subordinate’s presence in his mind, but the absence of that trace confirmed the reality.

Gyokko, who ten seconds ago had informed him about Marcus...

Was dead!

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