Chapter 27: Makomo's Thoughts |
Some embraced the existence of a god; others remained skeptical.
Some, like Kyojuro Rengoku, accepted it on faith immediately.
Others, like Sanemi Shinazugawa, maintained a critical distance.
'You mentioned evidence...' Sanemi broke the silence, his voice low as he addressed Kagaya.
The Wind Hashira's inquiry drew the collective attention of his peers.
He had voiced the question burning in all of them.
How, exactly, had the existence of a deity been confirmed?
The esteemed leader of the Demon Slayer Corps certainly wouldn't have made such a staggering declaration without irrefutable proof.
Every Hashira present yearned to witness this proof with their own eyes—even Gyomei Himejima, whose faith was already unshakable.
He gave a meaningful nod to Kanae Kocho, who had remained quiet during the heated discussion.
The Flower Hashira returned the nod understandingly. She reached into her pocket, withdrew her hand, and slowly unfurled her fingers before the assembled group.
Resting upon her delicate palm was a single, shimmering silvery hair.
"This is both a gift and the proof of a God's existence," Kanae whispered, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air as the others stared.
With their extraordinarily keen vision, the elite slayers could discern the fine thread even from several meters away.
"A hair?" Sanemi's brow furrowed.
"It looks perfectly ordinary!" Tengen added.
"Look closer, and you will understand," Kanae replied serenely. She placed the hair onto a small wooden table that had been sitting unobtrusively before her since the start of the meeting.
Sanemi scowled, glancing toward the man beside him.
Surprisingly, it wasn't the skeptical Wind Hashira who moved first, but the Flame Hashira, who had already accepted the claim.
"So, this is truly a strand from a deity? Do I have that right?" Kyojuro asked Kanae.
"It is," the Flower Hashira confirmed with a nod.
"I see. Then allow me to witness the essence of this 'god' for myself," Kyojuro said, stroking his chin.
After these words.
He rose from his seat and approached the small table. After a polite bow, he knelt and tentatively reached out to touch the silver strand.
His fingertips traced its length with practiced delicacy.
At first, he felt nothing out of the ordinary.
It carried no weight. In fact, it was extraordinarily light—almost ethereal.
It seemed exactly like a mundane human hair.
Kyojuro was momentarily stunned, but he quickly composed himself. Closing his eyes, he focused his breathing, pushing his perception to its absolute limit.
The Flame Hashira's sensory awareness had been tempered in the fires of countless life-or-death battles against demons.
One second passed...
Then two...
Then three.
Still, there was nothing.
Just as Kyojuro was about to give in to confusion, his expression rippled like the surface of a pond struck by a stone.
He slowly lifted his eyelids.
But he didn't see the assembly room or his fellow Hashira. Instead, he found himself immersed in a boundless, blindingly white expanse.
The others had vanished.
There was only this pure, pristine world.
Slowly, he lowered his head.
His eyes bulged in pure, unadulterated shock.
Beneath his feet, a silver bridge had manifested, stretching infinitely across the white void as if connecting the very edges of existence!
This magnificent structure was composed of countless bricks, each etched with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with the fundamental truths of the universe.
The mere sight of it was an inexhaustible well of wonder.
For the Flame Hashira, it was overwhelming.
His breathing style was a culmination of refined techniques passed down through generations, each master honing it toward perfection.
Yet, standing there, Kyojuro realized that a single fragment of the pattern beneath his feet contained more wisdom than all the generations of the Rengoku family combined.
This power... it was truly boundless!
He felt like nothing more than a solitary drop in a vast, unending ocean.
...
Meanwhile, back at the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters...
Kyojuro remained frozen, his hand still touching the hair and his eyes tightly shut, as the other Hashira watched with bated breath.
Nearly a minute of deathly silence passed.
Thud!
The Flame Hashira collapsed onto the floor, his face a ghostly, deathly pale.
"Kyojuro!" Sanemi was the first to spring into action, rushing to his side.
Kyojuro struggled to sit up. He offered a weak, trembling wave of his hand to reassure the Wind Hashira, though he was shivering violently and drenched in a cold sweat.
"Well? What did you see, Kyojuro?" Tengen asked, his voice grave.
The Flame Hashira took several ragged gulps of air, wiping the perspiration from his brow. Only after several seconds did he look at the Sound Hashira and force out the words: "Boundless... majestic... truly grand..."
Kyojuro was still reeling from the experience.
That feeling of utter insignificance—of being a mere grain of sand in a desert when faced with a single strand of hair—spoke of the absolute, incomprehensible power of its owner.
Now, he truly understood why they spoke of a god.
Indeed.
Who else but a true deity could possess such overwhelming might?
This wasn't a matter of comparing strength or skill. Even their very levels of existence were incomparable.
The gap between them was as vast as the distance between the heavens and the earth!
The remaining Hashira exchanged uncertain looks. They had just watched Kyojuro look as though he had barely survived a brutal, life-or-death struggle, all from simply focusing on a strand of hair.
Whatever he had witnessed, it had clearly erased any doubt. For him, the existence of a god was now an indisputable fact.
Naturally, their curiosity was piqued beyond measure.
After observing the Flame Hashira for a moment longer, Sanemi, Tengen, and the rest of the Hashira decided to see for themselves.
One after another, they collapsed to the floor in a similar state of shock.
Only the Stone Hashira remained seated, his calm, stoic expression never wavering.
Makomo took her turn as well. However, her spirit was no match for that grand, unfathomable power. She met the same fate as the others, though her shock was mingled with a profound sense of bewilderment.
Makomo felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity with the hair—a feeling of closeness to the master who had rescued her from poverty, raised her, and taught her everything she knew about the sword.
And yet... no matter how powerful her master was, she had never sensed even a hint of this boundless majesty from him, despite it being contained within this single strand.
After composing herself, Makomo questioned Kanae about the origin of the hair.
The Flower Hashira held nothing back, recounting the entire truth.
A gift from a god, was it?
A chance to rewrite destiny itself...
Makomo's mind raced. Then, a sudden realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. 'Could Master have also received a gift from a god? That would explain his incomprehensible swordsmanship!'
She was no longer the naive, helpless girl she once was. It was obvious to her now that her master possessed the power to effortlessly slay any Upper Rank demon—and likely even the Progenitor of Demons himself, though she had yet to encounter him.
It was a power that transcended humanity.
A strength that existed entirely outside any known hierarchy.
It was as if an unbridgeable abyss separated her master from the rest of the world.
On the surface, it made no sense.
But when she connected the mention of divine gifts, her own sense of familiarity with the hair, and its holy origin, the reason for that impossible gap became clear.
'I'll have to ask Master about this the next time we meet,' Makomo thought to herself.