The night wind, carrying the stench of blood and scorched flesh, spread from the village at the foot of the mountain into the woods.
Five figures shoved their way forward along the forest path.
Standing less than three feet tall, their skin was a filthy grayish-green, and fleshy tumors protruded from the sparse hair on their heads.
These were Green-Skin Demons, a common low-level yōkai of this era that often clung to Great Yōkai and survived by pillaging human villages.
The Green-Skin Demon leading the pack clutched a severed arm to its chest.
Bits of minced meat hung from the corners of its mouth, its expression one of utter satisfaction.
“The path ahead is blocked.”
The lead Green-Skin Demon halted, a low growl rumbling in its throat like a wild beast guarding its food.
Standing right in the middle of the only path back to their nest was a man.
He wore a battered set of Red Gusoku Armor, the armor plates re-laced together with coarse hemp rope.
His helmet was long gone, revealing a head of loose, pale hair and a Red Oni Mask beneath it.
He did not breathe, nor did his chest rise and fall.
A pallid, freezing mist coiled around his body.
A Ghost Samurai.
In this world where humans and yōkai coexisted, this was a unique type of undead entity.
In life, they were highly skilled human warriors.
In death, due to lingering obsessions or the heavy burden of their sins, they were barred from the cycle of reincarnation.
Their souls forcibly absorbed the Demonic Aura of heaven and earth to forge a new vessel.
They retained the combat arts of humanity while possessing the physique of a yōkai.
Usually, a Ghost Samurai was a silent killing machine.
But this one seemed to have a few screws loose.
The Ghost Samurai blocking the path kept his head lowered.
His left thumb rubbed the handguard of the black tachi at his waist as he muttered incessantly.
“I know you’re a picky eater.
The blood of that Pig Yōkai last time was too greasy and made you sick, but didn’t I give you a full rust-removal maintenance treatment afterward?”
The Green-Skin Demons exchanged bewildered glances.
The Ghost Samurai did not even look at them, continuing to speak to the sword in his hand.
“Even though these are just small fry tonight, they make up for it by being fresh.
Besides, while the meat of a Green-Skin Demon is sour and astringent, the resentment in their bone marrow is quite rich.
You should like that crisp, crunchy texture.”
“You say you want a higher-tier Offering?
Like the infamous Shuten-dōji?”
The Ghost Samurai sighed, tapping his finger lightly against the hilt twice.
“We have to take this one step at a time.
Your current sharpness still can’t cut through the hide of a Great Yōkai.
Once you finish this meal and our Affinity…
no, our synchronization improves, we’ll go challenge stronger ones.
Be a good girl, stop throwing a tantrum.”
The lead Green-Skin Demon felt insulted.
As the lowest existence in the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, they were indeed often treated as cannon fodder by Great Yōkai, but they were absolutely not ingredients to be casually critiqued by a lunatic talking to his sword.
“Kill him!”
The lead Green-Skin Demon shrieked, tossing aside the severed arm.
It drew a Leg Bone Club stained with black blood from behind its waist, its hind leg muscles tensing before it violently launched itself forward.
The other four Green-Skin Demons followed closely behind, fanning out to the sides.
This was their standard formation for hunting lone samurai.
Kōbe Hikaru ceased the one-sided conversation with his weapon.
“Looks like I don’t need to do any more convincing.
The meal has delivered itself.”
He raised his head.
His pale face was devoid of expression, and only his eyes—with their pitch-black sclerae and crimson pupils—locked onto the foul-smelling wind rushing toward him.
His perspective instantly shifted.
Kōbe Hikaru looked at the translucent panel in his vision that only he could see.
“What a high-maintenance princess.”
Kōbe Hikaru murmured, lowering his center of gravity.
Facing the Leg Bone Club smashing down from midair, he did not retreat.
A Ghost Samurai’s body did not require breathing, so naturally, there was no such thing as adjusting one’s qi.
His left thumb forcefully pushed the handguard out by an inch.
“Shing!”
A clear, resonant ring exploded through the air like a dragon’s roar.
Reverse-Wind Draw.
The black blade light drew a counter-intuitive upward arc beneath the moonlight.
The lead Green-Skin Demon was still in midair when its vision went black.
The hard Leg Bone Club in its grip, along with the tough hide it was so proud of, were as fragile as rotting paper before this line of black.
The edge bit into muscle, gliding through the gaps in the bones without the slightest resistance.
Two severed halves of the corpse crashed to the ground, accompanied by a rain of blood.
Kōbe Hikaru twisted his wrist.
The blade did not return to its sheath; instead, he carried the momentum into a horizontal sweep.
“That’s the first one.
How was the texture?”
he asked.
The tachi in his hand, named Muramasa, trembled slightly.
The originally dim hamon on the blade gleamed with an eerie purple light.
The green demon blood staining the edge instantly seeped into the steel and vanished.
Seeing their boss die instantly, the remaining four Green-Skin Demons faltered in their charge, but fear immediately ignited their ferocity.
The two on the left opened their maws wide and spat out two globs of green acid, while the two on the right scrambled across the ground, attempting to attack Kōbe Hikaru’s lower body.
That was [Corrosive Venom Drool], the Green-Skin Demon’s only ranged attack, capable of easily melting ordinary iron armor.
Kōbe Hikaru advanced instead of retreating.
His straw sandals stomped heavily on the ground, blasting dirt into the air as he turned into a blur and cut toward the left.
[Ghost Step].
This was a skill he had figured out on his own.
By using Demonic Power for an instantaneous burst of speed, he could achieve a near-teleportation dash over short distances.
The two globs of acid hit empty air, sizzling as they landed.
Kōbe Hikaru had already closed the distance, appearing right in front of the two venom-spitting Green-Skin Demons.
He did not use any flashy sword techniques with the Muramasa in his hand, opting instead for the most basic Diagonal Slash.
The blade slashed down.
The head of the left Green-Skin Demon flew into the sky.
Immediately after, using the momentum of the slash, Kōbe Hikaru spun like a top.
The blade drew a full circle behind his back, precisely deflecting a sharp claw attempting to ambush him from the rear.
“Clang!”
Metal clashed against metal.
The ambushing Green-Skin Demon’s claw was shattered by the impact.
It screamed and tried to retreat, only to find the black tachi clinging to it like a shadow.
Holding the sword with one hand, the tip of the blade trembling slightly, Kōbe Hikaru executed a self-taught sword technique he had comprehended in battle—Thrust.
Squelch.
The tip of the blade pierced through the Green-Skin Demon’s throat, pinning it dead against an old locust tree behind it.
“It’s still warm.
Eat up while it’s hot,”
Kōbe Hikaru said to the sword before violently yanking the blade free.
The corpse slumped to the ground.
The sole remaining Green-Skin Demon finally broke.
Dropping its weapon, it turned and dove into the bushes, scrambling up the mountain on all fours.
“Don’t let it get away.
That’s dessert.”
Kōbe Hikaru formed a Ritual Seal with his left hand, and a cluster of spectral blue foxfire condensed at his pale fingertips.
Demon Foxfire Firefly.
Although it was merely a basic yōkai art used for illumination and tracking, under the amplification of the Ghost Samurai’s Demonic Power, this cluster of foxfire shot forward relentlessly, instantly latching onto the fleeing Green-Skin Demon’s back.
The flames erupted, and the Green-Skin Demon fell with a shriek.
Kōbe Hikaru walked over at a leisurely pace.
The Green-Skin Demon rolled over, trembling as it watched the approaching Ghost Samurai, whimpering for mercy.
Kōbe Hikaru raised his sword, inspecting the edge against the moonlight.
“You say you’re still not full?”
He looked down at the yōkai on the ground.
“Apologies, but my child is still growing.”
The blade fell.
A head rolled into the grass.
The woods returned to a dead silence, leaving only the ever-thickening stench of blood.
Kōbe Hikaru flicked off the last remaining drops of blood from the blade—though there was not much left, as the sword had devoured most of it.
He opened the system panel.
Looking at the panel, the corners of Kōbe Hikaru’s mouth twitched slightly.
“The blood of a Demon Slayer is too hot and might break your teeth.
Let’s stick to the all-you-can-eat buffet for now.”
He slowly sheathed the longsword.
Click.
The sound of the handguard locking against the scabbard’s mouth rang exceptionally clear in the night.