Multiversal Chat Group: The Cultivator

Lu Mingfei: "Oh, great hero, please accept my humble respect!"

As he grew more familiar with the group, Lu Mingfei's goofy personality fully emerged.

And thanks to the anonymity of the chat group…

In real life, he was timid and cautious; online, he threw punches with full force.

Lu Mingfei had completely let himself go in the chat.

Saitama: "Different worlds, huh? Do you guys have monsters in your world too?"

Lu Mingfei: "Monsters? Uh yeah? We have dragons here."

Ren Asakura: "Monsters are creatures that are abundant in Saitama's world. There are tons of them, capable of destroying the cities, including a cosmic overlord who can wipe out the entire surface of a planet with a single attack."

Lu Mingfei: "Holy crap, Saitama's world is that dangerous?!"

Ren Asakura: "Relax, no one is more dangerous than this bald demon king. Even the so-called gods of his world would probably get punched to death by him."

Lu Mingfei: "Boss, please take me under your wing!"

Saitama's profile picture was a round, bald head, wearing a yellow hero suit. The art style looked somewhat rough, but it was the unmistakable style of a true powerhouse.

Saitama: "In my world, no one is a match for me. I just want to experience a real, exhilarating fight."

Lu Mingfei: "Boss, are you just showing off now? I know you're strong, but do you really have to rub it in?"

Saitama: [Scratches head emoji]

While everyone was chatting…

Kokushibo encountered his younger brother, Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

It was a night with a crimson blood moon hanging high in the sky.

Having regained a bit of his vitality, Yoriichi looked more energetic than before.

The wind blew gently.

The reeds around him swayed, rustling softly in the night.

A towering Demon Sealing Pagoda stood in the distance.

Yoriichi walked along the path, never expecting that, in the final moments of his life, he would meet his older brother once again.

Standing beneath the blood-red moon, Kokushibo, with his six eyes, never imagined he would see his younger brother again—

The brother who had cast a lifelong shadow over him.

As soon as the two met, the atmosphere became tense.

Seeing Yoriichi, with his full head of white hair and red haori, Kokushibo's pupils shrank.

He knew that swordsmen who awakened their Demon Slayer Marks never lived past 25.

It was precisely because of this inevitability that Kokushibo chose to become a demon.

And yet, Yoriichi had already lived to be 80 years old.

"It's been so long. Sixty years have passed since our last meeting… But why are you still alive?! Swordsmen with Demon Slayer Marks are fated to die before 25. Why are you always the exception?"

Kokushibo couldn't help but raise his voice.

Looking at his older brother's now monstrous and grotesque face—

Yoriichi couldn't hold back his tears.

"This is heart-wrenching, brother!"

The brother who had grown up and fought alongside him…

Had now turned into a demon.

Yoriichi's heart ached.

Kokushibo looked at Yoriichi, now aged and frail, seemingly on the verge of death, and felt… pity.

At that moment, he felt like his old self had returned.

To be pitied like this—he should have been furious.

But as he gazed at his younger brother, the anger within him faded away.

That was emotion.

The bond between brothers.

Even though Kokushibo had turned into a demon,

Yoriichi still called him "Brother."

And in that single word, Brother, there was endless sorrow.

Kokushibo stared at the fragile old man before him—

And, for the first time in centuries, felt a flicker of emotion in his heart.

Yet demons and Demon Slayers stood on opposite sides.

Even blood brothers had to draw their blades against each other.

That was conviction.

In this encounter, one of them had to die.

Looking at Yoriichi's frail body, long past its prime, Kokushibo never considered the possibility of losing.

The next moment, both of them gripped their swords.

And then—

In an instant, the feeble old man vanished—

Replaced by a swordsman more terrifying than anything in the world.

That presence—

The same presence that once made Muzan Kibutsuji tremble in fear—

Had returned.

Yoriichi's stance was flawless.

Identical to when he was at his peak.

Kokushibo suddenly felt as though a massive boulder was crushing down on him—

He couldn't even draw his sword.

"I'm coming."

Yoriichi's hoarse voice rang out.

In the next moment—

A flash of the blade.

Too fast.

Kokushibo only felt a cold sensation on his neck.

Blood sprayed through the air.

He had lost.

Kokushibo's eyes filled with disbelief.

He had actually lost—

To an old man.

"Damn it!"

His instincts as a master swordsman screamed at him—

The next strike would kill him.

Yoriichi's body had long since withered with age—

So how could he still swing his sword with such full force?

No, it was even stronger than before.

"Why? Why are you always different?"

"Even in this broken body, your strikes are just as strong as they were in your prime—No, they're even more powerful!"

Kokushibo turned his head.

But Yoriichi had already sheathed his blade.

"Why did you put your sword away? You could have killed me with the next strike!"

"Are you pitying me? Damn it!"

Kokushibo was furious.

He remembered it all—

The jealousy that consumed him.

His envy of Yoriichi's talent.

His brilliance.

His unmatched strength.

Why was he the one destined to be the sun?

"I'LL KILL YOU!!!"

Kokushibo roared in fury.

Yoriichi remained calm, his voice gentle.

"Thank you, divine gods, for allowing my brother to finally rest in peace."

Sixty years had passed.

Yoriichi's swordsmanship had long since reached its peak—

A realm beyond human comprehension.

Kokushibo's understanding of his brother's strength was frozen in time—stuck at when they were both twenty.

But with a single crimson fruit, Yoriichi was able to unleash the full power he had honed over the past eighty years.

One strike was enough.

Enough to send his brother to his final rest.

And sure enough—

Kokushibo felt something searing his throat.

It was the cut left behind by the Breath of the Sun.

The next moment, flames of red and black, like a miniature sun, erupted from his wound.

His entire neck was torn apart.

Decapitated.

Yoriichi's terrifying sword strike—

Even Kibutsuji Muzan, after centuries, had never been able to heal from such a wound.

This was the power of a Nichirin Blade.

Kokushibo had no chance of resisting such an attack.

Not even surpassing the limits of demons—surpassing the rule that a decapitated demon would die—would have changed anything.

That was the true terror of Yoriichi Tsugikuni.

The wound would never heal.

In the end, Kokushibo died unwillingly.

His severed head rolled across the ground twice before it began turning to ash.

The rest of his body followed.

"So I'm dying… but I suppose being slain by my own brother isn't such a regretful end."

Kokushibo closed his eyes for the final time.

Yoriichi felt his own life fading as well.

Everything had been sustained only by the crimson fruit he had eaten earlier.

"I'm sorry, Brother."

Yoriichi reached into his robes and pulled out an old gift—

A small, handcrafted flute—

A gift from his brother long ago.

Even after all this time, Yoriichi had never discarded it.

The flute was still in perfect condition.