Chapter 145: Country Demons
The deep, untamed woods on the far outskirts of Sendai.
Kozura Yuhito knelt on one knee in the dirt, his Nichirin Sword trembling
violently in his white-knuckled grip.
Exhaustion and raw terror made his ragged gasps tear through the freezing night
air like a broken saw.
His Water Breathing... was about to collapse.
When he accepted this subjugation mission, he had never imagined walking into
such a one-sided slaughter. Beside him, the corpse of his partner, Asakura Ryo,
had already grown stiff and cold. And though their crow had sent an emergency
distress call hours ago, no reinforcements had appeared.
His stamina bar was flashing critical red.
The blade that had once felt light and obedient in his hands now weighed as much
as a boulder.
"Gwahaha... running out of gas, mongrel?"
A stench of bile and rotting meat washed over him as a hunched, grotesque
silhouette stepped forward, looking down with predatory amusement.
It was the monster that had just devoured Asakura. Its spine was warped, thick
viscous slime dripped from its elongated claws, and its eyes burned with the
sick pleasure of a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
Rage surging, Yuhito lunged forward with a desperate horizontal slash.
A fluid crescent of water crested along the steel—only to suddenly hitch in
mid-air.
A momentary lag. Less than a split second.
Yet it was more than enough time for the demon to hop back half a step, letting
the razor edge miss its chest by a fraction of an inch.
Again!
Whether in pure swordsmanship or basic physical training, Yuhito and Asakura had
clearly outmatched this creature. But this monster possessed a cheating,
logic-defying Blood Demon Art that directly interfered with their motor control.
Capitalizing on the pitch-black forest and the synthetic openings its Art forced
upon them, the demon had toyed with them, picking Asakura apart before turning
its attention to Yuhito.
Forcing his lungs to churn out another ragged breath, Yuhito shifted into his
clan's ancestral Fox-Shadow Step, circling the monster with erratic, nimble
footwork. His breathing technique was still raw, but his form transitions were
remarkably sharp.
Yet every lethal stroke melted into futility the moment the invisible debuff
took hold.
As his reserves drained, his lunges grew sluggish.
No... my legs are giving out.
Watching the monster casually evade without even exerting its full strength, a
shadow of pure despair settled over Yuhito's eyes.
Grandfather... forgive me. I swore I would become a warrior who could protect
others. Yet in the end, I can't even protect myself...
His life as a Demon Slayer was going to end here, quietly snuffed out alongside
Asakura in an anonymous winter forest.
"Decent footwork. Skittering around like a frightened little fox," the demon
rasped, licking its lips. "I wonder if your meat tastes as gamey as your
namesake?"
Its claws twitched, preparing to trigger the Art once more. The moment Yuhito's
frame locked up, the demon intended to cave in his ribs.
Right then, an idle, curious voice drifted down from the canopy above:
"Biologically speaking, human meat shouldn't taste anything like fox meat. The
diet is completely different."
The demon froze.
Who's there?! When did they get up there?!
A presence as heavy and suffocating as an ocean trench dropped from the heavens,
landing dead-center between the Slayer and the demon. The resulting shockwave
kicked up a localized gale, snapping twigs and forcing both Yuhito and the
monster to shield their eyes.
The next second, Yuhito's breath caught in his throat.
Bathed in the moonlight stood a tall silhouette draped in a flowing,
custom-tailored haori. Various bizarre charms, a flask, and a pair of gauntlets
hung from his belt alongside three mismatched katana.
The boy recognized that face immediately from the rumors circulating through the
Northern Corps.
"L-Lord... Luminary Hashira?!"
"Oi. You're the 'Fox' kid, right? Can you stand up on your own?"
Natsuya glanced down at the teenage Slayer—whose Power Level sat at a
modest 70—and extended a casual hand.
Fox kid?
Yuhito stared at the outstretched hand, his brain temporarily short-circuiting.
"Hey! Arrogant brat! You dare turn your back on me?!" the demon roared in fury.
It lunged, black claws sweeping toward Natsuya's neck.
Then, a line of silver light flashed.
Natsuya didn't even turn his head. His right hand simply blurred, drawing Master
Kang the Third in a smooth, frictionless arc that painted a crescent of cold
steel across the night sky.
The vacuum wave of the strike swallowed the demon whole.
Yet, Natsuya's brow furrowed.
A miss?
His slash had suffered an imperceptible stutter—a lag of less than a thousandth
of a second.
A motor-interference Blood Demon Art? Some kind of ping-spiking debuff?
Across from him, the demon staggered back, clutching a catastrophic wound that
ran from its shoulder down to its hip, nearly splitting its ribcage open. Horror
filled its eyes.
If it hadn't triggered its Art at the final microsecond, that single casual draw
would have lopped its head clean off!
This swordsman... isn't normal!
"H-Heh... so what if you're fast?!" the demon snarled, trying to reassure
itself. "With my Art and my regeneration, you can't kill—"
BANG!
A tongue of muzzle flash lit up the dark forest like an erupting flower of fire.
The demon's head snapped backward as a bullet punched directly between its eyes,
its momentum sending its body tumbling into the mud.
[American Breathing] [First Form: Quick Draw!]
Wait... what? Yuhito's jaw dropped. Do Slayers carry guns now?!
Natsuya's left hand emerged from beneath his haori, clutching a heavy,
cold-blued Colt pistol. A thin wisp of gray smoke drifted from the barrel.
After a moment of dazed paralysis, the demon let out a mocking shriek from the
dirt:
"Gwahaha! What is that human toy supposed to do?! I am an immortal demon!"
Unless it was forged from Nichirin steel, bullets were just lead peas to a
demon. They couldn't inflict fatal damage.
Natsuya's expression remained flat. He gestured with his chin toward the demon's
face.
"Who told you this isn't a Nichirin weapon? Check your wound again, scrub."
The demon reached up, clawing at its forehead—only to shriek in genuine agony.
The hole between its eyes hadn't closed. The regenerative tissue was bubbling,
rotting away as an excruciating, acid-like burn spread through its skull.
"H-How... what did you do to me?!"
Yuhito stared in disbelief as well.
Natsuya turned sideways, flicking an amber-tipped cartridge toward the young
Slayer like a coin. "Custom ordnance," he muttered casually.
A hollow-point slug cast with Scarlet Crimson Iron Sand, packed with a core of
concentrated Wisteria extract reverse-engineered from Shinobu's notes.
His [Smithing LV.2] and [Poison Crafting LV.1] weren't just decorative badges on
his profile. He had spent his recent weekends off min-maxing his munitions. The
live-fire testing seemed to confirm the math.
The demon didn't retreat. The poison was eating its cognitive functions, but its
frenzied instincts drove it to charge one last time.
Custom ammo?! What kind of Pillar?! I don't care! My physical stats are higher
than any mortal's!
"Lord Kokonoe, look ou—!"
Yuhito's warning died in his throat.
Natsuya didn't even bother turning around. With his back still partially faced
toward the monster, his right arm snapped back like a piston.
The Wind-Breaker gauntlet ignited with a condensed, stellar brilliance.
In Yuhito's eyes, it was as if a miniature star had detonated in the clearing.
Before the knuckles even touched flesh, the atmospheric shockwave compressed the
air into a physical barrier. A deafening, hollow roar of bursting bone and
pulverized tissue echoed through the woods.
In a single frame, the demon's entire upper torso was blasted into a fine red
mist.
[Proficiency +161] [Luminary Breathing] LV.4 (3,429/4,000)
Natsuya gave his gauntlet an idle flick, dispelling the lingering ash, but his
inner critic was complaining bitterly.
These country mobs have trash base stats. Even with a Blood Demon Art, the XP
drop is practically pocket change.
He glared up at the branches above. "Hey! Little Black! Didn't you say this was
a Lower Moon? Why was it just another common trash mob?!"
"CAW! IDIOT NATSUYA! I SAID SUSPECTED! SUSPECTED LOWER MOON!"
Shiro screamed from the treetop, hopping furiously between branches.
"OTHER SLAYERS WENT MISSING! THEY REPORTED AN ADVANCED BLOOD DEMON ART! YOU
FAILED READING COMPREHENSION AND YOU'RE BLAMING THIS NOBLE BIRD?! CAW! CAW!"
Yuhito stood clutching the warm brass cartridge, his legs trembling.
The Luminary Hashira... He's a monster.
Faced with an Art that completely broke the combat tempo of standard swordsmen,
this man had treated the fight like swatting a fly. Yuhito hadn't even seen the
moment the final strike connected.
Suddenly, Natsuya turned, his gaze falling directly onto the boy's face.
Yuhito's heart nearly leaped out of his chest.
"L-Lord Hashira!" he stammered, snapping to rigid attention, his voice cracking
from stress. "I—I panicked when I sent the distress call! I mistook the pattern
in its eyes for a rank engraving—!"
He assumed he was about to receive a brutal dressing-down for wasting a Pillar's
time on a false alarm.
Instead, Natsuya walked over, reached out, and grabbed the boy's chin, tilting
his face left and right.
No deep lacerations. Skeletal structure intact. Internal organs stable.
Natsuya let out a heavy sigh. "Tsk. You're broke, aren't you?"
Broke? Me?
Expecting a military reprimand, Yuhito was left utterly stranded by the non
sequitur.
Seeing the older boy turn to leave, an ancient memory flashed in Yuhito's mind:
['Yuhito, what kind of man do you wish to become?'] ['Grandfather, I want to be
a warrior who saves others.'] ['Then you must become strong. Strong enough that
the people standing behind you never have to feel fear.']
A warrior like him... Standing behind him, you truly feel like nothing in this
world can harm you.
Throwing caution to the wind, Yuhito took a massive step forward, dropping into
a ninety-degree bow that nearly touched his knees.
"Lord Luminary! Please... please instruct me in the sword!"
"I... I want to become a strong swordsman like you!"
The moment the words left his mouth, regret set in. Who was a Hashira? Unless
you were a hand-picked Tsuguko, common Slayers never received personal
instruction from the top brass.
Especially a low-ranking Tsuchinoe like him. Days ago, he wouldn't have dared
dream of speaking to a Pillar, let alone begging for mentorship.
Then, Natsuya's voice floated back through the cold air. It carried the exact
same unbothered, casual tone he'd used when asking if Yuhito could stand up:
"Oh? You want to level up?"
Natsuya looked back over his shoulder, the pale moonlight tracing his profile.
"Sure. I'll train you."
☆☆☆
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