The dust hadn't fully settled.
Their muscles ached, and their breathing was ragged. But the Hashira stood—blood boiling, pride burning.
They'd thrown everything.
And nothing had worked.
The Slayer, silent as ever, turned to leave.
But a voice cut the air.
"Wait."
Giyu Tomioka stepped forward.
Sweat clung to his brow, but his voice was steady. "Again."
The Slayer paused.
No helmet.
No weapons.
Just his gaze.
"Fight us again," Giyu said, his tone almost pleading—but not for pride. For understanding. "But this time… don't just stand there."
A beat passed.
The wind shifted.
And then—the Slayer nodded.
The Hashira re-formed.
Kyojuro cracked his neck, grinning through the fatigue. "He's going to move this time… how exciting!"
"Be careful what you wish for," murmured Mitsuri, shaking her arms loose.
Sanemi's smile was wide. Too wide. "Good. Let's see what makes you move, you oversized brute."
But somewhere deep inside, even he felt that coil of fear. That gut-hollowing pressure of a thing waking up.
Then the Slayer moved.
And everything fell apart.
Obanai's blade struck—but never landed.
A blur of green and iron shifted. The Slayer sidestepped. One armored hand caught the blade mid-swing— on steel—and twisted.
Obanai spun midair, crashing to the ground in a harmless roll, winded but alive.
Before he could stand—he was already out.
Shinobu leapt in, needle-like precision aimed for the joints in the armor.
But the Slayer vanished—blinked behind her.
She turned—and was gently tapped on the forehead.
Not a strike. Just a touch.
She blinked.
Then everything went black as she fainted.
Sanemi charged.
Wind howling, blade glowing, rage boiling.
"Try dodging this, monster!"
He struck from above.
The Slayer raised his hand—
And caught the sword between his two fingers.
Time froze.
Sanemi's eyes widened. "H-How…"
The Slayer yanked the blade from his grip, spun, and in a single motion, grabbed Sanemi by the back of his collar and tossed him into a stack of wooden logs like a sack of rice.
"GUHH—!"
Rengoku came next, blade blazing, fury in his stance.
"FLAME BREATHING—"
He didn't finish.
The Slayer was already in front of him.
No teleport.
Just speed.
He pivoted, caught Rengoku's wrist, and with perfect technique, redirected the strike away from his body before gently shoving him back with a single palm.
Rengoku was thrown like a missile—into Giyu, who had been preparing his own attack.
Muichiro and Mitsuri rushed in from the flanks.
The Slayer leapt, flipping overhead in full armor, landing behind them, grabbing the scruff of their uniforms and lifting them both up—one in each hand—then gently placing them on the ground like kittens.
Their swords gone. Their fight done.
Only Gyomei remained.
He let out a low breath and raised his fists.
He didn't speak.
Neither did the Slayer.
Then he charged.
The ground cracked under his feet as he lunged.
The Slayer spun.
Gyomei's fist met an open palm.
And stopped.
Not blocked. Just… ended.
The Slayer leaned in, eye to eye.
Then pushed.
Not hard.
But enough.
The Stone Hashira was shoved backward, feet skidding, until he knelt.
Not out of pain.
But out of realization.
He could not win.
The crowd had fallen dead silent.
Not from awe.
But something colder.
Fear.
Respect.
Something ancient.
Kagaya Ubuyashiki, watching quietly with his wife beside him, smiled gently. "He fights not to win. He fights to teach."
"He didn't hurt any of them…" Tanjiro whispered.
"No," Nezuko added softly. "But he could have. All of them. At once."
The Slayer turned back, having disarmed, displaced, and humbled every one of the Pillars.
Not a cut.
Not a drop of blood.
He retrieved his helmet. Lifted it.
Paused.
And looked toward them all, one last time.
Then…
Click.
Helmet on.
Training… complete.