CHAPTER 12: SINGLE SWORD AGAINST HELL

The lower floors of the Infinity Castle trembled.

Walls twisted and shifted, forming endless corridors—each crawling with countless demons, monstrous forms emerging from the shadows, shrieking with bloodlust.

The lower-ranked Demon Slayers, overwhelmed, formed tight circles with trembling hands.

"Hold the line!" shouted Murata, swinging his blade desperately.

Sweat poured from his brow, but he stood his ground with whatever courage he could muster.

Cries erupted—another slayer fell. Then another.

Then—

A gust of wind.

A blade flashed.

In the blink of an eye, three demons dropped, cleanly severed, their bodies turning to ash.

Standing at the center—

Sahiru Orasawa.

His black cape billowed in the darkness.

His golden-eyed stare burned with fury.

"Step back," he said, voice quiet—dangerous.

The slayers looked up, awestruck. One whispered, "It's him…"

Dozens of demons charged at once.

Sahiru stood still.

Then—moved like a storm.

"Facade Breathing: Fourth Form – Red Spider Lily Dance!"

Crimson arcs tore through the air. His blade sang with death.

Every slash was deliberate. Every motion—perfect.

He weaved between attacks like a phantom, not a single claw touching him.

Murata tried to follow his movement but couldn't.

In seconds—entire squads of demons were cut down.

But they kept coming.

Dozens became hundreds.

A horde.

From the shadowed walls and ceiling, more demons poured in, ravenous and howling.

Sahiru's expression twisted—not with fear, but with pain.

He growled, "How many more…?"

His grip tightened on the hilt of his blade.

"These slayers… they're just children to you, aren't they?"

Demons screeched.

"Fine," he whispered.

The wind died.

The castle fell silent for a breath.

"Facade Breathing: Tenth Form – Berserk Wrath."

A violent aura erupted from Sahiru, shattering the ground beneath his feet.

A vortex of red and violet spiraled around him as he dashed into the horde with unrelenting fury.

Every strike became a storm.

Every demon that approached—torn apart in an instant.

The ground ran black with the blood of monsters.

Murata stood frozen.

He had never seen such hatred. Such sorrow.

Such power.

As the dust settled, Sahiru stood among a field of ash and silence.

He panted slightly, blade still glowing.

"…If hell keeps opening its gates… I'll shut them with this sword."

His eyes lifted.

More demons came, and Sahiru moved again—

Alone, against all of hell.