Chapter 341: The World Will's Fraud

Doma's physical strength matched Gyutaro's perfectly, but his mastery of Blood Demon Arts and soul manipulation far exceeded the scarred assassin's crude techniques. While Gyutaro's abilities—the toxic fusion with Daki and their symbiotic soul connection—remained devastatingly effective, they were also refreshingly straightforward. Patterns could be identified, weaknesses exploited.

However, when it came to pure combat skill, Doma couldn't hope to match someone personally trained by Oboro himself. Gyutaro's footwork, blade techniques, and tactical instincts had been honed through decades of relentless hunting. In a fair fight between equally matched opponents, victory could swing either way.

Under normal circumstances, their chances stood at fifty-fifty.

But these weren't normal circumstances, and Oboro could already see how this would end. Doma would claim victory—not through superior power, but because Gyutaro had brought his greatest weakness directly into battle.

Daki.

The beautiful courtesan who had never been anything but a burden, whose protection had cost Gyutaro countless opportunities and strategic advantages. Doma understood this dynamic perfectly, and his calculating mind had already identified exactly how to exploit it.

"One suffers from poison, the other from spiritual corrosion," Oboro murmured with dark amusement, watching the deadly dance unfold below.

Gyutaro possessed raw talent that could have rivaled anyone in this world, but Oboro had never properly cultivated that potential. Coming to the Demon Slayer reality hadn't been about nurturing perfect warriors—it had been about experimentation, about testing the limits of inherited will through trial and error. The inheritors, including Gyutaro, were test subjects rather than treasured students.

If Oboro had invested his full attention in Gyutaro's development, Doma wouldn't stand a chance. But that level of personal intervention contradicted the very essence of inherited will. True inheritance required self-discovery, personal growth, the awakening of dormant power through struggle and determination. Too much guidance would transform inheritance into mere instruction.

The siblings' bond was their greatest strength—and their ultimate downfall.

"Get the hell out of here!"

A thunderous roar suddenly echoed through the Infinity Castle, pulling Oboro's attention away from the poison-versus-ice duel. He shifted his perception downward to observe the primary battlefield, where Muzan's confrontation with Kokushibo had reached a fever pitch of violence.

The spatial dynamics had shifted dramatically. Three figures now surrounded the Demon King instead of just one, representing the few inheritors capable of surviving Muzan's flesh-and-blood constructs long enough to join the main battle.

One of them was Ayako, the white-kimono woman who had spoken with such devotion to Oboro earlier. Her presence on the battlefield carried special significance—among all the inheritors, she possessed one of the most unusual and dangerous soul abilities.

Spiritual Attraction.

Her consciousness emitted wavelengths that resonated directly with enemy souls, creating an irresistible pull that could scramble thoughts, slow reactions, and divert attention at crucial moments. The technique bypassed normal defenses entirely, operating on frequencies that couldn't be blocked or deflected.

The only counter was building resistance through repeated exposure—forcing the soul to adapt to the invasive resonance through sheer willpower. Even Muzan, with all his enhanced spiritual power, found himself losing focus whenever her ability activated.

Another inheritor lay dead beside them, his severed head still leaking blood across the platform where Muzan had claimed his latest victim.

During this brief reprieve, Kokushibo had struck repeatedly with his phantom techniques, his soul-enhanced blade carving wounds that couldn't heal through normal regeneration. While Muzan's flesh recovered from each injury within moments, the spiritual damage accumulated like poison in his consciousness.

"All of you die! I am the only winner!"

Muzan's voice cracked with strain as he decapitated another inheritor, his composure finally shattering completely. The carefully controlled facade of the Demon King gave way to something far more primal and desperate.

Blood erupted from his form like a crimson geyser, cascading through the dimensional space in torrents that transformed the very architecture of the Infinity Castle. Platforms, pavilions, and floating buildings began dissolving into organic matter that flowed downward like waterfalls of gore.

The stench of copper and decay filled the air as Muzan pushed his soul spores to their absolute limit.

This was his true power—the terrifying ability that had made him the undisputed ruler of demonkind for over a millennium.

His earlier injuries from Doma and Kokushibo had only occurred because the inheritors' interference had divided his attention. More importantly, Muzan had wanted to display overwhelming dominance in front of Oboro—to prove his worthiness through elegant superiority rather than desperate brutality.

That plan had failed spectacularly. His enemies had proven far more resourceful than anticipated.

As the blood-tide spread throughout the space, everything began transforming into extensions of Muzan's will. The Infinity Castle itself became a massive organism under his control, every surface teeming with sensory organs and attack vectors.

Kokushibo, who had been preparing another stealth assault, found the pavilion beneath his feet suddenly shifting into writhing flesh. Dense clusters of eyes sprouted from walls, floors, and ceilings, their pupils rotating frantically as they searched for his concealed position.

His soul ability could fool spiritual perception, but it couldn't deceive direct visual observation.

Within moments, one of the eyes fixed on his location.

Horror shot through Kokushibo's consciousness as Muzan's twisted features materialized directly behind him, having used the cellular connection to transport himself through the organic matrix.

"Did you really think you had a chance to defeat me?!" the Demon King snarled, his voice distorted by rage and contempt. "You're nothing but trash I picked up from the gutter!"

Kokushibo vanished in a burst of shadow-step movement, but he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the counterattack completely. Grotesque tumors erupted across half his body, his elegant form becoming a nightmare of asymmetrical deformity as Muzan's cells began their work of systematic destruction.

He tried to purge the contamination through Blood Demon Arts, but found his efforts useless. The viral spread of Muzan's enhanced cells far exceeded anything he could neutralize. They had already penetrated his internal organs, flowing through his bloodstream toward his brain with inexorable determination.

Muzan's soul spores had limited range, but the blood-waterfalls cascading from above seemed to catalyze his cellular density, amplifying both the coverage and potency of his abilities. The central space of the Infinity Castle had become a crimson hell where no refuge existed.

Even areas that appeared clear contained invisible "spores"—microscopic agents that waited for contact with living tissue.

Kokushibo's combat instincts screamed at him to amputate the infected portions of his body, but logic overruled emotion. The contamination had already spread too far, racing through his circulatory system faster than he could carve it out.

His legs gave out, sending him tumbling toward a floating platform below. Before he could regain his footing, a chain-like tentacle burst from Muzan's position and speared through his abdomen, reeling him back with casual brutality.

As he was dragged through the air, Kokushibo caught a glimpse of Ayako's fate from the corner of his eye.

The devoted woman had been transformed into an unrecognizable mass of flesh and bone, her human features dissolved into something that barely qualified as organic matter. Only her eyes remained unchanged—burning with adoration as they gazed upward toward Oboro's elevated position.

She showed no fear of death, no regret for her sacrifice. In her twisted perception, dying in service to Oboro's will was the greatest honor imaginable.

Failed?

The thought flashed through Kokushibo's mind as darkness began closing in around his vision. But suddenly, fragments of memory surfaced—images and sensations from his human life that had been suppressed for centuries.

High above the carnage, Oboro felt the subtle influence of the Demon Slayer world's governing will pressing against his consciousness. The metaphorical "little tree" that represented this reality's essential nature was expressing its preference with unmistakable clarity.

It didn't want Muzan to die here.

Despite everything that had transpired, despite the rebellion and betrayal and systematic opposition, the Demon King remained the world's original "seed"—the first successful product of its evolutionary experiments. His soul spores, the viral technique that could transform matter at the cellular level, represented one of this reality's greatest achievements.

The abilities displayed by Kokushibo and Doma—spiritual concealment and soul manipulation—were ultimately derived from techniques Oboro had demonstrated during his time in the Hunter x Hunter world. But Muzan's power was genuinely indigenous, a unique expression of this world's potential that couldn't be found elsewhere.

For them to reach this level of development was already remarkable by any standard.

Kokushibo and the remaining inheritor fell in battle.

Muzan had claimed victory.

But the world's will had secretly intervened, tilting the scales to ensure its preferred outcome.

You still think he's the better choice, don't you? Oboro directed the thought toward the governing consciousness, feeling its subtle response through spiritual resonance.

The metaphorical tree swayed gently, acknowledging his perception.

In the next instant, Muzan materialized directly in front of Oboro's elevated position, having traversed the distance through his cellular network. His black suit was torn and bloodstained, his pale features marked by exhaustion and strain, but his scarlet eyes burned with triumph.

"I won," he stated with cold satisfaction, the three words carrying all the weight of his desperate ambition.

Doma and Gyutaro were still fighting somewhere in the dimensional maze, their conflict unresolved. But it no longer mattered. Even if they somehow managed to unite their forces, neither could hope to challenge Muzan's current state of enhancement.

"Are you looking down on me?" Oboro asked with deceptive mildness.

That simple question struck Muzan like a physical blow, shattering his momentary pride and replacing it with the familiar terror that Oboro's presence always inspired. After a moment of visible struggle, the Demon King's knees buckled slightly as he fought against the impulse to prostrate himself completely.

"Heh."

Oboro's soft chuckle carried more menace than any threat.

"With your natural ability, you should have died after overdrawing your soul power to such extremes," he continued conversationally. "That fusion of Blood Demon Arts and soul spores isn't nearly as refined as you pretend. Your consciousness is fractured, your spiritual essence riddled with cracks from the strain... You should barely be able to speak, let alone maintain coherent thought. Even you must be surprised by your current condition."

Muzan's pupils dilated as the words struck home. Indeed, his internal state felt strange—almost artificially stable. The agony of spiritual overextension, the damage from Kokushibo's soul-cutting attacks, even the accumulated strain of managing the Infinity Castle's transformations... all of it felt muted, suppressed by some external influence.

"This world saved you," Oboro revealed with quiet finality.

"What?" Confusion replaced triumph in Muzan's expression.

"When a world's will chooses to preserve a specific individual, it must alter fundamental rules and amplify certain aspects of their personal history," Oboro explained with the patience of a teacher addressing a slow student. "Perhaps some forgotten experience from your past—originally meaningless—has been retroactively enhanced to provide the spiritual resilience you needed to survive tonight. Such interventions always come at great cost to the governing consciousness."

Oboro's gaze sharpened, fixing Muzan with predatory intensity. "This is the game I arranged. You are all contestants I selected for my entertainment. I am the sole referee."

"Do you understand what this means?"

A chill of premonition raced down Muzan's spine, his throat working nervously as terrible understanding began to dawn.

"If you had survived through your own ability alone, I would have honored our agreement," Oboro continued with inexorable logic. "But I despise outside interference in my affairs. Under normal circumstances, you might have been able to eliminate Kokushibo and the inheritors—but your own condition afterward would have been catastrophic. A death match with any of your remaining enemies could have gone either way."

"Even if your chances were still favorable, uncertainty is uncertainty."

"Now, however, the outcome was predetermined. You were guaranteed to win."

"I—" Muzan's voice cracked with desperate protest. "Are you going to break your promise?!"

"Not breaking it," Oboro corrected with terrifying calm. "Simply letting the script continue along a different trajectory. Your script doesn't apply to me anymore."

Muzan's mind went blank as he saw the murderous intent crystallizing in those ancient eyes.

"What does any of this have to do with me?" he demanded, panic bleeding through his attempted indignation. "What world? What salvation? I won through my own strength! Trash like them could never kill me, no matter how many allied against me!"

"You..." His composure cracked completely. "I don't... I won't... I refuse to die!"

"I will never die!!!"

The Demon King's final scream echoed through the Infinity Castle, but Oboro's expression remained unmoved—the face of a judge who had already rendered his verdict.