"Goku, listen. If things get truly dangerous, I'll buy us some time. You use that teleportation ability of yours to escape."
Mita took a deep, shaky breath and stepped into the dark forest. Despite the overwhelming sense of dread, he didn't turn back. His wife and daughter had been devoured by demons; since then, he had nothing left to live for but the hunt. Even if he died on this mountain, he would have no regrets.
But Goku was a rare talent—a diamond in the rough. Mita couldn't let a spark like that be snuffed out at Mount Natagumo. Fortunately, Goku's "Blood Demon Art-like" movement suggested he could probably flee any trap.
"What... what is this?"
They had followed the forest trail for twenty minutes when the sound of steel clashing echoed through the trees. Rushing toward the noise, they found a gruesome scene: a group of people engaged in a frantic, bloody melee.
Mita's face turned ashen. He recognized them. They weren't demons—they were members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
"What are you doing?! Stop this at once!" Mita roared as he saw one familiar slayer plunge a blade into the stomach of another.
The slayer who had struck the blow was weeping, his face twisted in agony. "My body... it won't move on its own! I'm sorry, Akita!"
These were slayers who had arrived earlier in response to the crow's summons. After grouping at the base, they had ascended together, only to have several of their comrades suddenly lose control of their limbs and begin slaughtering the others.
"Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance!"
Mita inhaled sharply, using the breathing technique to surge forward. His movements became fluid and rhythmic, like a winding stream. He dove into the fray, his blade flashing as he parried strikes to separate the combatants.
Water Breathing was the most common entry-level style in the Corps, and Mita was no exception. Though his talent was mediocre—having only mastered this single form out of the ten—years of practice had given him a respectable level of proficiency.
'Is this the breathing technique?'
Goku watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with fascination. He noticed that the moment Mita changed his breathing pattern, his physical power and speed spiked significantly.
Earlier, Mita had explained that Breathing Styles were the "Great Equalizer." A normal human body, even with a Nichirin Sword, was no match for a demon. Breathing techniques allowed a person to push their heart and lungs to the absolute limit, flooding the blood with oxygen and causing physical capabilities to skyrocket.
The effectiveness depended on two things:
1. Base Physical Strength: The stronger the body, the higher the ceiling. If a normal man is a '1' and breathing makes him a '3', a person who is a '10' might become a '30' or more.
2. Mastery: The better the technique, the higher the multiplier.
Mita had mentioned that the true masters—the Hashira—could maintain this state twenty-four hours a day, even while sleeping.
"What happened to you all?" Mita gasped, panting as he held the two groups apart.
"Mita-senpai, we..." The conscious slayers huddled around him, explaining the horror of the sudden betrayal.
Meanwhile, the "puppets" regrouped. Many were unconscious, their heads lolling, yet their bodies stood rigid. Their swords were raised in unison, pointed directly at Mita and the others.
"This is bad... it's a Blood Demon Art!" Mita's experience told him a powerful demon was nearby, controlling his comrades like marionettes. But he couldn't see any threads or influence. He didn't know how to break the spell.
"Senpai, they're coming again!"
The puppets lunged forward, blades gleaming in the moonlight.
"Dammit!" Cold sweat poured down Mita's face. He had pushed himself too hard to separate them just now and hadn't recovered his breath yet. His remaining allies were wounded and exhausted. If they were swarmed again, they were finished. And they still hadn't found the caster.
"Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance."
Suddenly, a blur of motion streaked into the crowd of puppets. It moved with the grace of a mountain stream, weaving between every single possessed slayer.
Before the puppets could even register a target, the figure was back at Mita's side.
"Goku... how do you know that move?"
Mita stared in utter disbelief. Goku was standing there, holding a massive bundle of confiscated Nichirin Swords. Mita knew for a fact that Goku had never even heard of Breathing Styles until this afternoon. To see him perfectly execute the Third Form after seeing it once was impossible.
"I watched you do it," Goku said, dumping the pile of swords on the ground. He looked genuinely puzzled by Mita's shock. "I just tried to match your breathing and movements. It felt pretty simple."
He wasn't bragging; it really was simple to him. To Goku's eyes, Mita's "high-speed" movements were like watching a slow-motion film. He could see every muscle fiber twitch, every shift in weight, and hear the exact rhythm of the air entering Mita's lungs. With his perfect physical control, mimicking it was effortless.
He hadn't mastered the entire style, but he had perfectly "copied" the rhythm of the Third Form.
Goku grinned. He felt a strange, new sensation. By mimicking that breath, his already monstrous physical power had surged, and the ki within his body had flared up in response.
'I definitely came to the right world,' he thought. Even if there were no masters to fight, learning these Breathing Styles would take his strength to a whole new level. Compared to the abstract complexity of magic, this—this physical combat logic—was exactly what he was built for.
***
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