"…So strong…"
The rescued candidate couldn't help but voice his amazement after witnessing Takeo dispatch all the attacking demons in just a few swift moves.
Takeo sheathed his Nichirin sword and turned back to look at the man, speaking softly:
"Leave. While you're still close enough to the entrance."
Being pushed to the brink by a single ordinary demon made it clear that this person didn't have what it took to become a proper member of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Staying any longer would be the same as walking to his death. He was better off retreating while the path was still relatively safe.
The man seemed to understand that as well. Without saying much, he trudged over to pick up his fallen sword, bowed deeply to Takeo in gratitude, and turned to make his way back toward the entrance.
Takeo watched his lonely figure fade into the trees, unsure of what else to say.
Surely, this man had a story of his own. Anyone who chose to wield a blade against demons likely did so because they had been hurt by one—perhaps lost someone dear.
But in this brutal world, talent was everything. If you lacked the ability to slay demons, you had no choice but to accept that reality.
Honestly, if Takeo didn't have his own "cheat"—his unnatural abilities—he probably wouldn't have chosen to face demons head-on either.
Let's be real. Demons were terrifying.
Without a cheat, only an idiot would willingly fight them.
Watching the retreating figure disappear, Takeo found another spot to sit and reflect on the technique he had just modified.
Thanks to Uncle Logan's insight and his own natural talent, altering an existing Breathing Technique wasn't particularly difficult for him.
The First Form of Wind Breathing was originally a linear thrust technique. By chaining together multiple dashes and narrowing the area of effect from the wind blades, Takeo had managed to convert it into a multi-target assault.
Simply put, instead of being a true "combo slash," it was more like Takeo had performed the First Form three times in rapid succession.
This sort of adjustment wasn't all that impressive. Anyone with decent talent could likely pull it off.
What Takeo truly needed was combat experience—enough to one day forge a completely original Breathing Style of his own.
"It's always harder to create than to modify…"
Takeo couldn't help but sigh at the thought.
If it were just a matter of mimicking other Breathing Forms to craft his own, he could do that right now.
But that wouldn't be true creation—just a clumsy imitation of existing styles.
Since he aimed to create something uniquely his, something polished and powerful, ideally even stronger than the Breathing Styles it evolved from, he couldn't afford to settle for mediocrity.
And it was precisely because he set his sights so high… that he now found himself stuck in a creative dead end.
While Takeo was still deep in thought about how to create his own Breathing Style, time slipped by unnoticed.
During that span, no demons had come looking for him—perhaps they instinctively avoided the area, sensing the monster that lurked there. Or maybe, he was simply lucky.
Either way, Takeo passed the entire night in peace, without incident.
As the sun rose from the east and its golden light poured into the forest, the demons vanished. The participants of the Final Selection finally got a chance to rest.
Takeo intended to find a sunny spot to nap, both to rest and avoid any surprise demon attacks.
But just as he took a few steps, a familiar voice rang out behind him:
"You little brat! Found you!"
"…"
Turning his head, Takeo saw Sakoma Iori, gasping for breath and beaming triumphantly, as if discovering his location were some major achievement.
…Seriously? What's there to be so smug about?
Takeo grumbled internally, though he was also genuinely curious. "How did you even find me?"
"Because you suck at hiding," Iori replied without missing a beat.
Takeo frowned. "What do you mean?"
True, he hadn't bothered hiding his tracks along the way—but even so, an ordinary person shouldn't have been able to use those to find him, right?
Iori replied, "Your Breathing Technique, duh. I saw the marks you left behind—whatever kind of slash leaves everything torn up like that? I figured it had to be your style. So I followed those traces and started searching nearby. Sure enough, here you are."
Takeo's technique Dust Whirlwind: Consecutive Slash left behind visible vortex marks—scars in the earth and air sliced clean by wild winds. They were distinct enough for someone sharp-eyed to track.
"…If only you used that level of observation to actually find demons," Takeo couldn't help but mutter.
He had to admit: Sakoma Iori had great eyesight and awareness. It was just wasted tracking him instead of enemies.
But Iori didn't take offense. Hands on her hips, she said proudly, "Well, it's your fault for trying to ditch me in the first place, brat!"
"No, listen—this is the Final Selection. If you team up, it's not even a real test anymore. Ditching you was the most reasonable option."
"Yeah? Well, it's daytime now, and we're on break—so teaming up isn't a problem anymore!"
Iori seemed to have latched onto Takeo, much to his exasperation.
"…Do you really have to follow me around?"
"Not exactly… but the fact that you tried to ditch me just seriously annoyed me."
"So now you're sticking with me just to be contrary?"
"Umm …Something like that?" Iori tilted her head.
"I've gotta say, you're remarkably talented at being infuriating."
Since the girl was clearly intent on tagging along, Takeo had no good way of shaking her. And, well—it was daytime now. The sun was up. There wouldn't be any demons prowling around, so teaming up for a while wasn't really a big deal. Takeo decided to just let her be.
Not that he'd ever admit part of the reason he was tolerating her… was because of those rice crackers.
…
"So, what's with that mask on your hip?" Takeo asked while crunching on a rice cracker, finally addressing the curious item Iori kept strapped to her waist.
Takeo had noticed the mask on Iori's hip the moment he saw her earlier.
He was certain she hadn't been carrying it before—he hadn't seen it on her during the battle with the demon woman, and she hadn't taken it out at any point. Plus, the mask looked old and weathered, a little dirty even.
So he'd guessed she must've picked it up along the way, which led to his question.
Sure enough, Iori picked up the fox-faced mask and gave it a little shake. "This? Found it on the way here! It looked kinda cute, so I figured I'd keep it."
As she spoke, she slipped the mask over her face and made clawing motions at Takeo. "Raar! I'm a fox spirit! I'm here to eat you!"
"…Seriously? How old are you?" Takeo rolled his eyes.
Grinning under the fox mask, Iori tilted it up so it sat crooked on her head, revealing her face again. "Says the sour little old man in a kid's body. You're so boring for someone your age."
She chomped on another rice cracker as she teased him, seemingly unfazed.
Takeo had no idea where she was keeping them all, but she sure didn't hold back—he'd never seen her so much as ration a bite.
Between the rice crackers and the cool streamwater nearby, their breakfast was finished in short order.
Takeo glanced again at the fox mask hanging at Iori's waist, this time studying it more closely.
It was a white mask with red markings—graceful lines painted with care. A red dot adorned the center of the brow like a drifting cloud. Clearly, whoever had crafted it had put real effort into the design.
But now the mask was scarred and weathered. The lower part of the left cheek was chipped, the cracks running jagged. Even worn on the face, it wouldn't fully conceal the wearer's features.
The mask's previous owner had likely fought a demon and had the mask broken in the struggle. And since it had been left behind… they probably hadn't made it out alive.
"You should toss that thing," Takeo said after a moment, glancing at Iori. "Just leave it."
Iori blinked at him. "Huh? Why?"
"If the owner never got a chance to take it back, they probably died. It's not really lucky to wear something from someone who died like that."
It was just superstition, maybe—but still. Items left behind by the dead weren't meant to be worn casually. Especially when you didn't even know the person.
He had meant it as a simple warning. But Iori only grinned smugly and wagged a finger at him.
"Tut tut, little brat. That's where your mindset's lacking."
"…Excuse me?"
"Anyone who died here, they died fighting demons, didn't they?" Iori said, tilting her head. "They weren't official Demon Slayers yet, but they still fought with everything they had till the very end. That kind of willpower? That's worth learning from."
She nodded proudly, then added with a grin:
"Wearing this mask isn't bad luck—it's like having their spirit watching over me! Super lucky, actually!"
Takeo stared at her.
…Why did that kind of make sense?
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o(*￣▽￣*)ブRead 12 Advance chaps—P@treon: HornyFBI