‘Where did this brat come from?’ Demon was genuinely terrified now.
Unlike before, he desperately wanted to escape, farther the better.
He wanted to flee, but Hajime would not let him go.
In his field of vision, that terrifying boy chased after him, holding his sword in a reverse grip.
Demon panicked.
His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route.
He caught sight of Jutaro struggling on the ground.
Demon immediately formulated a plan.
Jutaro’s hands were covered in mud, scraped and bleeding, his fresh blood mixing with the dirt.
Suddenly, he felt his body go light and lifted into the air, as if someone had grabbed him.
He turned his head and saw Demon lifting him with one hand.
Terror overwhelmed him, and he instantly struggled desperately.
Demon subdued him with a single sentence.
“Don’t move if you don’t want to die!”
Demon’s right hand, nearly severed, had healed completely thanks to his physique.
His left hand had also stopped bleeding, a new left hand would regenerate soon.
His right hand gripped Jutaro by the back of his neck, holding him in front of itself like a cat.
“Don’t come any closer!
If you take another step, I’ll kill him.”
Hajime, right behind Demon, stopped, wary of the hostage in his grasp.
“He isn’t dead yet.
If you send him down the mountain and get him prompt treatment, he can still be saved.
Let me go, and I’ll release him.
A life for a life.
How about it?
Sounds fair, right?”
To win the terrifying boy’s sympathy, Demon added, “I promise to be a good demon from now on and never eat people again.”
Blood oozing from the wound had stained half of Jutaro’s leg red.
He shivered from fear or blood loss.
“You are a demon, and I am human.
Demons eat humans.
Why should I believe you?”
“I had no choice before.
Now I want to be a good demon.
Give me one chance, I won’t let you down.”
Hesitation and struggle flickered across Hajime’s face.
Finally, he seemed to reach a decision and sheathed his sword.
Taking the traitor hostage had been a desperate move.
Demon never truly believed it would work, he just needed time to stall.
He never expected the boy to hold back just because the brat had already betrayed them once.
Humans really were interesting…
If he could exploit this weakness, he might still turn the tables entirely.
Hajime rested his hand on the hilt, bent at the waist, and assumed a drawing stance.
He took a deep breath, pulling a massive gulp of cold air into his lungs.
‘Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash!’
Dirt exploded.
Lightning flashed.
“Wha-”
The boy vanished from his spot.
Demon’s vision caught only a streak of lightning, the thunderbolt arrived in an instant.
The deafening thunder still rang in his ears.
Demon suddenly realized his field of vision kept spinning end over end.
When the spinning finally stopped and its vision settled, Demon saw the boy’s back, performing the blood-flicking resheathing.
In the reflection of Demon’s fading eyes, that haori, though old and stained with dirt, looked incredibly elegant.
(A/N: In canon, the sword forms generated by Breathing Techniques are just visual effects, and how it worked was still just slashing people with a sword.
If that were true, many things would contradict the original plot.
For instance, when Tanjiro was launched into the air by the Yahaba’s (Arrow Demon)’s Blood Demon Art, he used Water Breathing, Eighth Form: Waterfall Basin to reduce the impact of the fall.
Or at Mt.
Natagumo, when Zenitsu unleashed Thunder Breathing, he shook off all the spiders crawling on him.
Then there is Mist Breathing, which can release a thin mist to surround Gyokko.
Another example is Giyu’s self-created Water Breathing, Eleventh Form: Dead Calm, the effect of which puts the user into a perfectly still state while nullifying all techniques that enter the attack range of his blade.
None of this can be explained as mere visual effects.
Writing it exactly like the canon clearly introduces bugs.
Aside from forcing the explanation that “Demons are just humoring their chuunibyou performance,” I cannot think of any other reasonable excuse.
So for the sake of logical consistency, this fanfic will no longer follow the canon setting of “Breathing Techniques are just visual effects.”)
Demon’s corpse, his neck severed, rotted rapidly, dissolving into black smoke before his eyes and vanishing into the air.
Only the dirty kimono on the ground remained as proof the monster had ever existed.
The precise strike of Thunderclap and Flash landed squarely on Demon’s neck.
He had used Jutaro as a hostage, yet his head remained exposed beyond his captive.
Regardless, that oversight killed him.
But even though Hajime had slain Demon, Jutaro was not out of the woods.
More accurately, he was on the verge of death.
The artery in his thigh had been slashed by the claws, and blood poured out without stopping.
Even as the battle ended, Aoi reacted instantly, desperately pressing down on his wound.
Blood still gushed forth, seeping thickly through the gaps between her fingers.
Hajime watched Jutaro lie on the ground, gasping for air, fading fast.
He said nothing.
This was not an common exam from some anime.
Firing a distress flare would not summon a rescue team.
Demon Slayer Corps needed swordsmen capable of fighting vicious demons to the death.
The Final Selection served as the ultimate test and the final hurdle, undeniably cruel and bloody.
In this trial, the eliminated had only one outcome: death.
Not long after Demon’s body dissolved into black smoke, Jutaro breathed his last.
He lay on the blood-soaked earth, head tilted, the light already gone from his skyward-facing eyes.
Aoi, both hands stained with blood, wept bitterly.
A hand reached over from the side and grasped Aoi’s bloodstained wrist.
Hajime pulled the dazed girl away from the spot, walking toward the distance.
Jutaro’s blood covered the ground, and demons were highly sensitive to scent.
The smell would inevitably attract others.
If forced to fight more demons while protecting Aoi, Hajime knew he could not guarantee her safety.
Leaving before the others arrived was the best strategy.
The night passed quickly.
Perhaps because this was only the first night, a large number of candidates had entered Mt.
Fujikasane.
There were so many that Demons on the mountain were overwhelmed by the abundance of food.
From the end of that battle until the sky revealed the pale light of dawn, the two encountered no second demon.
Despite it being only one night, facing the terror of a demon, the grief of betrayal, and severe physical exhaustion took their toll.
Aoi could hold on no longer and fell asleep leaning heavily against a large tree.
Hajime did not sleep.
He did not lack fatigue, but sleeping was not the only task at hand right now.
*Gurgle gurgle gurgle*
His stomach rumbled, demanding food.
The top priority now was filling their stomachs.
Their current resting spot was by a shallow lake.
The lake reflected the rays of light like a mirror.
Beneath the water’s surface, beautiful red-scaled fish swam back and forth.
One fish, for some unknown reason, lay struggling and flopping on the grass several meters from the water.
Perhaps it was the boy’s imagination, but he felt the fish’s eyes were looking right at him, as if begging for help.
Hajime walked over to the fish, crouched down, and pressed his hands together piously.
“I’ll give you a hand.”
The fish’s mouth opened and closed.
It seemed to understand his words, thanking him and believing that a good person would surely be rewarded.
A few minutes later…
A blazing campfire burned by the lake.
A fire crackled, roasting a fish skewered on a branch until its flesh turned golden and tender.
Hajime steadied the fish in his right hand and fished out a seasoning bottle with his left, giving it a light shake to dust the spice over the meat.
The rich aroma wafted through the air, filling his nostrils.
The roasted fish on the branch stared back with wide, unblinking eyes, its mouth working open and shut as if to say, ‘Thanks a fucking lot.’
If one were to name the great inventions of this world, seasoning would undoubtedly be among them.
Even Aoi, lost in deep slumber, stirred awake at the scent.
“You’re awake?
Come eat some fish.”
Hajime, crouched by the fire, turned at the sound of movement.
Aoi rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
He smiled and held out the roasted fish.
“It’s ready, but be careful, it’s hot.”
She didn’t reach for it immediately, asking shyly, “Where’s yours?”
“You eat first.
I’ll catch more later.”
Only then did Aoi take it, murmuring her thanks.
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